Stealing Home
by Rorke's Drift
Summary: You can take getting shot as lightly as you please... Yes, this is another Rundown post-ep (because who can resist such obvious temptation for hurt/comfort goodness?). Mostly Eliot-Hardison-Parker friendship. All chapters have already been written.
1. Chapter 1

You can take getting shot as lightly as you please. The fact nonetheless remains that high speed projectiles tearing through human skin and muscle tend to do damage. And when you follow up the projectiles' action with running, jumping, and punching to take out the gunman, well, the damage tends to expand. Blood rushes out faster as action and adrenalin increase your heart rate and blood pressure, and tissue being asked to perform as if it had no gaping holes or missing connections tears jagged edges further apart as it complies, and you can only push it so far before it gives out.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Rundown post-eps already abound, I know. And several of them are totally awesome - but that didn't stop me from having fun writing my own version (even if it turned out very differently from what I originally had in mind :). Hopefully that means a few like-minded people who are not yet burned out on the "Eliot got shot" storyline will have fun reading it! I will aim for greater originality next time..._

_As stated in the summary, this story is fully written - so no need to worry about it turning into an abandoned WIP. As far as posting schedule goes, I will aim for a chapter a day - but should you happen to want the next chapter a little faster, feel free to request it: if I'm online again that day and see the notification, I'll probably be so thrilled that I will immediately log in and post the next one!_

_For the rest, all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_Happy reading! _


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_Chapter 1 was really more of a teaser, so here is a proper first offering!_

* * *

Eliot knew the effects of bullet wounds. He took Udall out with a single, vicious punch because he knew his shoulder had one punch in it, but couldn't guarantee two. Likewise, he knew that after the second bullet hit his left leg he could launch himself those few inches needed to add the power to his punch that would ensure a knock out, but after that and the landing that followed, all bets on strength and mobility were off. There was a split second, as he delivered the punch and felt the secondary reverberations up his arm from Udall's head hitting the floor, when he wondered if he had misjudged his strength in the other direction and actually killed the guy. It was too late to do anything about it if he had, and the thought was lost as he landed in an ungainly sprawl and the pain rolled through him. He rode the wave as it crested, then took a moment to just breathe as it receded to manageable levels. As rational thought returned, he pushed himself up and off Udall, reaching out with his left hand to check for a pulse and respirations. Eliot breathed a sigh of relief as he found both. Apart from anything else, it would be a whole lot easier for Eliot, Hardison and Parker to stay out of the official incident reports of if there was no dead body to explain.

* * *

Stretching a little further, Eliot pulled the gun towards him and emptied it of the remaining bullets before tossing it into a corner. He growled a little to himself. How many years had Hardison been watching him do this very thing to pretty much every firearm that came into his possession? And what had Hardison done? Kicked the damn thing little more than a couple of yards from the crazy guy's hand. And it wasn't like Hardison didn't know the guy was perfectly willing to kill to get his message out there: he'd helped save the 911 administrator from the hit that morning, had seen the farmer at the pig farm, and had been the one thing standing between half the FBI in Washington and incineration out at Udall's decoy trailer that afternoon. Eliot mentally berated Hardison a little more – complete with the requisite _Dammit, Hardison!s_ – as he hauled himself off the floor and onto one of the seats in the subway car. He could hear the other two over the comms and gathered, reading between the lines of Hardison's freak out, that Parker had managed to burn off the virus. Still, they should see about getting her a dose of the vaccine Udall had used on himself. Hardison too, since he had rushed out there. Just to be safe. Eliot put this under _Call Vance_ (and above _Call Nate and let him know we'll be late back_) on his mental to-do list as he inspected the damage to his leg and shoulder.

The leg would be okay. The entry wound in his quadriceps was small and neat, the exit wound in his hamstring larger and messier, and walking was going to suck for a few days, but it wasn't bleeding heavily enough for him to have to worry about any major blood vessels having been severed. The shoulder wound, which had started out miraculously small and slow bleeding, had definitely torn further open - front, middle and back - during that punch, and, by the feel of his shirt, he wasn't going to escape a stop off with the paramedics even if he could still talk his way out of a hospital visit. At least the shirt was red. If he pulled his jacket on over it, maybe he could still make it to and into a hotel without raising too many questions or eyebrows.

* * *

Or maybe not. The expressions on Parker and Hardison's faces as they tumbled through the door and caught sight of him suggested that "inconspicuous" was too much to hope for. Damn, but he was glad to see them – shaken, but whole, and hopefully unexposed to the virus.

_Vaccine_, he thought again. _And Vance._

"Damn, Eliot," Hardison said as he got his mouth and feet moving again, eyes going from the unconscious Udall on the floor to his blood-covered friend. His hands made uncertain darting motions towards Eliot's injured shoulder, as if he wanted to help but was unsure how. "You all right?"

Eliot batted the hands away.

"It looks worse than it is," he said, shifting a little in his seat so he could reach his cell phone with his left hand. He nodded down at Udall. "Parker, can you tie this guy up or something?"

Parker nodded and got to work. Hardison was still hovering, wanting to _apply direct pressure_ or _clean the wounds_ or _something_ as Eliot pulled up Vance's number on his phone. He glared at Hardison as he dialled, and the younger man subsided, hunkering down next to Parker as she finished securing Udall, still processing what the three of them had done that afternoon...what Eliot and Parker, in particular, had just been willing to do, seemingly without fear or hesitation. He wasn't sure whether to envy their coolness under pressure or to curse them for damn idiots with lousy survival instincts.

"Vance," Eliot said. "We've got him. The bomb's defused and the virus is destroyed, so you can send people down to arrest him...Udall's unconscious, though, so you might want to send a paramedic down too."

There was a pause as Eliot listened to the response.

"Uh-huh," Eliot grunted. "And one more thing. Udall made a vaccine – looked like it was stored at his house?" Eliot quirked an eyebrow at Hardison for confirmation as he spoke, getting a quick nod in return. "We're going to need a couple of doses for Parker and Hardison, just in case they were exposed while destroying the virus."

"Three doses," Parker piped up, tugging at her last knot to test it.

"I was in here when you torched the virus," Eliot protested.

"Yeah," Hardison said, "but we were all in the lab and at the pig farm, so, just to be safe, three doses."

Eliot was looking stubborn.

"I'm not taking mine unless you take yours," Parker said, looking to Hardison for solidarity. "And go to the hospital to have those bullet holes fixed."

Eliot glared at them, but they showed no signs of backing down.

"Three doses," he said into the phone, then hung up. "No hospital; the paramedics can patch me up. But we'll all take the vaccine. Deal?"

Parker and Hardison exchanged looks, then nodded.

* * *

The three of them lapsed into silence, adrenalin levels starting to ebb as it finally started to penetrate that the world was not about to either explode or be engulfed by an apocalyptic flu epidemic. Eliot wanted to say something to the other two, to somehow acknowledge the way they had stepped into the breach simply because they were there, and he couldn't do it alone. Before he could find the words, however, the subway car was filling with law enforcement and emergency medical services personnel, and he was fighting off paramedics with grabby hands who were arguing about how to get him topside given that the maintenance stairwell they had entered through was too narrow to manoeuvre a stretcher through.

"I can walk, damn it," he growled, batting away the most persistent hands and pushing to his feet.

And he could. Sort of. But when, after five or six steps, his left leg was threatening to give out on him, he didn't object to Hardison's sliding a shoulder under his left arm in support, or even to the paramedic who insisted on tagging along and grabbing his belt loops for a little extra lift on the painful journey upstairs. Parker had skipped ahead, not saying anything more than that she would be back.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_Thank you for all the lovely reviews - they are proof that the "likeminded people" I was hoping for do exist!_

* * *

Vance followed the FBI agents taking Udall custody down into the subway, and stayed long enough to inspect Spencer's work. By the time he left, Udall was starting to come round and was being checked over by the paramedics, and the agents were bagging up both Udall's gun and the briefcase containing the defused bomb. Back above ground, he found Spencer sitting on the back of an ambulance with a paramedic who, to judge by the mixture of fear and frustration on his face had already lost the argument about the need to transport the victim of multiple gunshot wounds to hospital, trying to fix dressings at an awkward angle over the shoulder wound. The agent Vance had sent to retrieve the vaccine from Udall's house intercepted him as he headed in that direction, handing over a small case. Vance took it, checked the contents and then handed it off to the paramedic treating Spencer.

"One dose each for him and him," Vance said, nodding at Spencer and the hacker standing nearby, "and one for ..."

Vance looked around for the blonde thief, startling slightly as she appeared seemingly from nowhere beside him, thrusting a crutch at Spencer.

"...her," he finished.

Spencer took the crutch but laid it to one side and made a quick grab for the girl as she seemed about to melt away again.

"Hey," he said. "Flu shot time. Hardison, get over here."

Watching the three interact as the vaccines were administered, Vance didn't think much of his chances of getting Spencer back on government payroll as a regular. Still he had to try. And the man had, historically, worked alone, so the idea that he would be so firmly tied into a team as to refuse all future employment didn't seem likely. If an ad hoc basis was all he could get, he'd take it. As much of it and as many of them as he could talk into it, he thought, watching the three "bad guys" walk away. Spencer had been very circumspect about his recent activities during their last job together, but now Vance was wondering just what kind of havoc he and his friends had been wreaking or averting where. A team as effective as that was worth keeping under the radar... but on speed dial.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_That last chapter was really short - plus I'm not sure when tomorrow's posting will happen - so here is a second one of a more satisfying length!_

* * *

It wasn't that Eliot didn't appreciate Parker's thought behind appropriating him a crutch, but it really wasn't working for him. If Udall had to shoot him – twice – could he not, at least, have had the consideration to hit the same side? As it was, he was forced to use the crutch on the same side as his leg injury, and his left shoulder, the one that until today he would have described as his 'bad' shoulder (the one that needed icing after a tough fight and heating pads on cold mornings), did not appreciate the weight distribution this created. After a few steps he abandoned the attempt and reached again for Hardison's shoulder. Parker moved in on his other side, saying something again about hospitals, which he reflexively denied. They hadn't gone much further before Eliot realised he had no idea where they were heading.

"Where are we going?" he asked, a couple of plans starting to take shape in his mind if neither of them had thought ahead that far.

"Hotel," Parker told him.

Eliot nodded. They needed to hole up a day or two to make sure they were all clear of the flu. It would be kind of a wasted effort to prevent the release of the virus in D.C. only to infect a planeful of passengers heading who knew where across the country.

"Wait," he stopped as another thought suddenly occurred to him, bringing the others to a halt on either side of him. "Our hotel? Where we stayed last night?"

"What's the problem?" Hardison asked.

"Riley knew I was in D.C.," Eliot explained. "He won't be the only one."

Hardison frowned.

"We need to get out of town?" he asked.

Eliot thought about it. They had been in D.C. for two days and Riley's phone call was the only sign of his old life rearing its ugly head.

"Not immediately," he said. "But we should probably switch hotels and aliases."

"Already done," Parker told him.

Both men looked at her in surprise.

"Yeah," she said, matter-of-factly. "I moved our stuff while Eliot was getting patched up, and did that backdoor thing with the tv in the hotel room to make it look like we checked in a couple of days ago."

Hardison was impressed; he'd only shown her how to do that once and that was more than two years ago.

"How did you get in the room?" he asked.

"Oh, I used Tara's towel trick from back when we had to kidnap that corrupt mayor," Parker replied, leaving Eliot choking on a stifled laugh.

"Which hotel?" he asked, before Hardison could ask for details.

"The Manderley," Parker replied. "Come on. We can get a cab just over there."

"The – the Manderley?" Hardison stammered.

"Yeah," Parker said. "What's wrong?"

"We stole a car from there earlier," Hardison groaned.

Parker shrugged.

"I didn't know that," she said. "Did they see you?"

"Did they see us?" Hardison repeated. "We practically took the keys from the valet attendant's hand! I'm pretty sure they more than saw us."

"So we won't valet," Parker said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And if they've circulated our description among all the staff?" Hardison demanded.

"I don't think the valet got that good a look at us," Eliot said.

"And if they fingerprint the car?"

"Vance was taking care of all that stuff," Eliot said, tiredly. "Let's just go."

"You trust him?" Hardison asked.

Eliot hesitated. He didn't exactly trust Vance. Vance used people as necessary to achieve his ends. But Vance knew he owed them right now, and he took that kind of thing seriously. Plus, the less paperwork that existed on them, the more useful they could potentially be to him in the future.

"Right now, and with this? Yeah," Eliot said, as they started moving again.

"Okay," Hardison said, readjusting the grip he had on Eliot. " 'Sgood enough for me. You are kind of conspicuous right now, though."

Eliot glanced down at himself. Conspicuous...yeah...

"Either of you see what happened to my jacket?" he asked. There wasn't much he could do about the leg wound, but the jacket would cover the more obvious bandages criss-crossing his upper body.

"I think I saw someone putting it in an evidence bag," Parker said. "You want me to ...?"

She gestured back towards the scene behind them.

Eliot nodded.

"If you can, yeah," he said.

Parker flashed her up-for-a-challenge smile and jogged off.

"You want to sit down and wait for her?" Hardison asked, pointing out a bench nearby.

Eliot shook his head. They didn't have much further to go across the park to where they could hail a cab, but he was moving pretty slowly and Parker was generally twice as fast as you thought she would be.

Sure enough, they had barely gone another fifteen yards before Parker caught back up to them.

"Here," she said, holding out Eliot's jacket, breathing barely disordered.

"Thanks," he took it and, letting go of Hardison's shoulder, started to ease his right arm into the first sleeve.

It was a tight fit over the bulky dressing, but Parker helped him get it on and zipped up to cover most of the bandaging. She stood back and gave him a considering look. Her eyes lingered on the still obvious white bandage around his left thigh, looking for a way to hide it. But after a moment she just gave a quick nod and moved back in to Eliot's right side. The jacket was the best they could do right now.

* * *

They got lucky. Despite the fact it was late afternoon in downtown D.C., it only took them a few minutes to get a cab, and thirty minutes later they were pulling up in front of the Manderley, just blocks from where all the drama had started that morning. As Eliot got out of the cab, he looked down the street to the train station, wondering how Theresa was doing...and who had taken out the morning's other two victims. His thoughts were derailed as Parker ducked under his left arm, pressing close up against his body. After a moment, he realised what she was doing. People might notice a guy draped over a hot blonde crossing a hotel lobby, but they would associate the pair with a whole different set of scenarios than they would a limping guy leaning on another man just enough taller to make it look uncomfortable. Stepping away from the cab, Eliot felt Hardison fall into step just behind them.

"You got a room key?" Hardison asked Parker as they entered the lobby and headed for the elevators.

Parker nodded.

"All taken care of," she said. "Suite 2203."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: All the usual disclaimers apply...see earlier chapters.

I am being Sunday-evening-lazy and saving the responses to the new reviews until tomorrow (but thank you for them, in the meantime!). Anyway, far more importantly, here is today's chapter!

* * *

In the elevator, Hardison pushed the button for the twenty-second floor. They had the elevator to themselves, so Hardison looked over at the other two where they leant against the back wall. Eliot's face was carefully blank, his eyes closed. Parker was focused on the display of lit numbers marking their progress upwards.

"You guys okay?" Hardison asked.

Parker nodded, but kept her attention on the numbers.

Eliot opened his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, looking over at Hardison. "You?"

Hardison huffed something close to a laugh, arms crossing in front of his chest.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Did we really do what I think we did?"

Before Eliot could reply, the elevator drew to a halt on the conference centre level and half a dozen men and women, all wearing business suits and name tags squeezed in. Through the crowd, Hardison saw Parker shift a little in front of Eliot, doing what she could to obscure the blood-stained bandage wrapped around his thigh. From his view at the front of the elevator, he suspected it wouldn't matter: every one of the new occupants had adopted the attitude of the twenty-first century elevator-rider, staring fixedly at their smart phones as they checked emails and text messages, only looking up to check the floor numbers when the ding announced arrival at someone's floor.

The elevator emptied out again by the twentieth floor, but Eliot, Hardison, and Parker rode the final two floors in silence. When the doors opened for the last time, Hardison held the 'door open' button and waited for the other two to exit, then followed as Parker led the way to the room she had commandeered.

* * *

It turned out to be a two-bedroom suite, separated by a small living room and kitchen area.

"So what happens next?" Hardison asked as Parker steered Eliot into the bedroom on the left.

Eliot sat down on the bed with a grunt.

"Next, you two take showers and bag up those clothes you're wearing," he instructed.

"What about you?" Hardison asked, frowning.

"I'm going to do the same, but only after I've topped up on fluids," Eliot said, gesturing towards a large bottle of water sitting on top of the mini-bar. The thirst of blood loss was leaving his mouth and throat parched.

Parker crossed to the mini-bar. She handed the bottle to Eliot, but also pointed out the paper bag sitting near him on the bed.

"I got you some Gatorade, too," she told him.

Eliot opened the bag and pulled out a bottle of the red, sugary sports drink. The taste was nothing to look forward to, but he would need the electrolytes it contained.

"Thanks, Parker," he said, unscrewing the cap. He took a sip before continuing. "We also need to let Nate and Sophie know we're staying here a couple of extra days. And," he added as Hardison's stomach growled and Parker dug in the paper bag for a packet of gummy frogs that she tossed at him, "we need dinner."

"What about...?" Hardison trailed off, gesturing towards Eliot's shoulder and leg instead.

"There's someone I can call," Eliot said. "But I want to shower before she gets at me with the needle and thread."

"Okay," Parker said, all business. "Alec, let's go shower. Eliot, you have everything you need for now?"

Eliot put the Gatorade bottle to one side and pulled his cell phone from the left hand pocket of his jeans.

"Looks like it," he said, putting the phone next to the Gatorade bottle. He toed off his shoes and rearranged himself so he was leaning back against the headboard. Hardison made an abortive move to help lift Eliot's legs onto the bed, but was stopped by a fierce glare. He raised his hands in submission and backed away as Eliot tried to get comfortable.

"Come on," Parker said, tugging on Hardison's arm. "We haven't eaten since breakfast, and I want dinner."

Despite her words, they lingered a moment longer - all three reluctant to separate after the day's anxieties.

"Hey, guys?" Eliot said, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant as the other two finally started to move. They stopped and looked back over at him. His eyes were veiled by his lashes for a moment as he studied his hands, seemingly searching for what he wanted to say. Parker and Hardison exchanged glances, but stayed quiet, waiting.

"Thank you," Eliot said at last, eyes rising to meet theirs.

Parker and Hardison looked at each other in confusion, then back at Eliot.

"For...?" Hardison asked.

"For staying," Eliot said, "even though you didn't have to...For stopping Udall, when it wasn't your responsibility."

They frowned at him in confusion.

"There wasn't anyone else who could do it," Parker said.

"Yeah," Eliot said. "That's what I'm saying. We..._I_...needed you, and you stepped up, no questions asked, just because it was the right thing to do. I've never been prouder to say I worked with anyone than I was with you two today, and I wish..." he trailed off, swallowing down regret. "I wish you could get the recognition you deserve for what you did ...for what you risked..."

Parker was still bewildered, but Hardison thought he had figured out what Eliot was getting at.

"You think we want medals or something?" he asked in disbelief.

"You earned them," Eliot said. "But the U.S. government ain't exactly keen on either getting its hands dirty by association or admitting there was something it couldn't do itself."

Eliot had learnt both of those the hard way, when his officially unofficial orders had led to capture and a dishonourable discharge. And, while he had long accepted the political necessity of such a position, bitterness still laced his words.

Parker and Hardison, in contrast, were convulsed in giggles.

"Eliot," Hardison said at last, wiping his eyes, "if we wanted medals, I would have hacked the list to get us on it, and Parker would have simply stolen any she wanted."

Parker scrunched up her nose.

"They're not sparkly enough for stealing," she said. Then, as a thought struck her, she tilted her head to one side and considered Eliot. He did wear a lot of jewellery. "But if you want one, I can get it for you," she offered.

"No," Eliot huffed an exasperated sigh. They just weren't getting it. "It's not the medal that matters; it's the fact that someone took the trouble to notice what you did and to recognise the guts and skill and – and generosity it took, and thanked you for it."

Both Hardison and Parker sobered immediately, crowding back in around the bed.

"We don't need an official thank you or a piece of metal from the government," Hardison said. Eliot opened his mouth to protest, but Hardison shushed him. "No, listen. Parker and I haven't taken any oaths like you have, and we didn't stay or do what we did today because any government asked us to. We did it because there were innocent people at risk who needed help, and giving that kind of help is what we," he gestured to include all three of them, "do... And we stayed because you were going to, and you needed our help to get the job done. Okay?"

"Yeah," Eliot nodded.

"And as for the medal stuff," Hardison went on, "well, you just gave us everything you described except the unsparkly piece of metal, so you can shut up about what recognition we should be getting and let us get the shower we definitely deserve. And, in case you haven't figured it out already," he added, reaching down to squeeze Eliot's uninjured shoulder, "we were just as proud today that we work with you."

Parker nodded beside him. When Hardison stepped back, she slipped between him and the bed to replace the Gatorade bottle in Eliot's hand.

"Drink up, Sparky," she told him. "Still lots to do tonight."

Then she turned and pushed Hardison ahead of her through the bedroom door.

"Come on," she said. "Shower time."


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_A little something for your Monday morning: the chapter that earned this story its rating of "teen and above". :)_

* * *

It wasn't a quick shower. Neither Hardison nor Parker intended anything more than washing off the day's grime and getting into clean clothes, but the enormity of the day's events and the intoxication of both of them still being _right there_ and _safe_ sideswiped them so that they found themselves both under the spray of water, soap bubbles sliding off skin that could not get close enough to satisfy the need for reassurance coursing through and echoing between them. Lips met not _for luck_, but with bruising intensity, _demanding-taking-giving-receiving_ in fear and need and gratitude, as bodies pressed closer, trying to subsume each other into a single core that bullets-and-landmines-and-bombs-and-deadly-viruses couldn't threaten to divide. There was a frantic desperation to their lovemaking as they reached the climax, easing down into a rhythm of exhaustion and satiation, until finally they were standing, legs-bodies-arms-foreheads pressed together, inhaling each other's proximity through the clouds of steam swirling through the shower stall. Hardison felt the tremors in his own body mirrored in Parker's, and could not tell whether they were the come down from exertion or adrenalin. He heaved a sigh, part relief, part contentment, and felt her torso automatically adjust to follow that change in his breathing rhythm, giving where it needed to allow space for his inhale, following into the space created by his gusty exhale. Less than twelve hours earlier, he had watched her twist and contort with graceful ease through a laser grid, thinking of nothing but his luck at having this amazing woman as such an integral part of his life, and the fun of playing Robin Hood with his two best friends, making off with the shiny loot to right the latest of the world's wrongs. That luck seemed a hundred times greater now, the menace of what-could-have-been lurking darker and closer than before. He blinked his eyes open, gazing down at Parker's still face. She looked utterly serene, not a blink or a twitch as she matched her breathing to his, an almost smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. He wondered if she had been scared today – not just afraid of the larger consequences if they failed, but deeply, personally fearing what _they-she-he_ could lose, even if the larger threat were averted. He hadn't seen any sign of it if she had been – not in her or Eliot as he had run straight into active gunfire and she had fled with the case full of the flu virus. He hadn't known what they had planned then – had completely forgotten Parker's mini acetylene torch and his comment earlier that the virus could be killed by fire. But he had seen their silent exchange; had seen, but not quite understood in time, their acceptance not only of how it could end for each of them but also of how it could end for the other. And he realised now that he was angry at them for this, for their willingness to set themselves and each other in the breach like that...for accepting that cost without apparent thought for the portion he – and Nate and Sophie, to be fair – would bear in that absence. And he was maybe a little angrier at Eliot than Parker because he had always thought Eliot protected Parker as much as he did Hardison. But today Eliot showed he was as willing to risk Parker's safety to get the job done as he had been to let Hardison end up at the bottom of a swimming pool, chained to a chair, when they went up against Moreau. And, okay, that wasn't quite fair, because Eliot had offered to get them both out of town when Vance first let them go that morning. But he hadn't fought them when they volunteered to stay, and he hadn't made any attempt to stop Parker when she took off with about-to-be-released virus. And, again, that wasn't quite fair – because he had covered her exit, and he hadn't been in any fit state to run after her and take over after that little debacle. Hardison still didn't know how Eliot had hauled himself up off the floor and walked out of that subway car; the man hadn't had a snowball's chance in hell of catching up with Parker at that point. But still –

"Stop thinking so hard," Parker interrupted his thoughts, reaching around him for the shampoo. "It all turned out fine."

Hardison huffed a little at that. Because they don't know yet that it all turned out fine. There was still no guarantee, with Parker's possible exposure to the flu virus and Eliot bleeding in the other room, and Hardison was very not okay with that. His breathing sped up as the fear and anger gained momentum.

"Stop it," Parker said again, this time pushing a bottle of shower gel into his hand. And he got what she was saying now. There were still things that needed to be done and it was time to get on with doing them. He nodded and slathered more body wash onto his limbs. They needed to finish washing off whatever contaminants they might have picked up during the day; then they needed to get Eliot taken care of – and all of them fed, his stomach reminded him with a growl. They needed a thermometer so they could monitor themselves for the onset of flu symptoms, and they needed orange juice – lots of orange juice. It was full of vitamin C, right? Hardison wasn't sure. He'd have to Google it...maybe check for other foods that were good for fighting off colds and flu. Or maybe Eliot knew...


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I'm so glad people are still enjoying this! If anyone else still has post-Rundown stories mulling around their brains, apparently the market for them has not yet reached the saturation point :)._

* * *

Parker could feel Hardison thinking, disturbing the calm they had momentarily achieved in the warm humidity of the shower. She would have blamed it on the proximity of his brain as they stood with their foreheads pressed together, but past occasions had taught her that Hardison's thinking could be felt from across the room, if not through walls, when he really got going. And judging by the tension once again thrumming through his body where it was lined up leg-to-leg and rib-to-rib with hers, his brain was going a mile a minute now. She sort of understood it– she remembered her own panic when he had been buried alive and they had been racing to find and free him before he ran out of air, and recognised he had probably been feeling something similar when she ran out of the subway car with the briefcase full of flu virus – but that was over now, surely he saw that? At any rate, it was probably time they got out of the shower and on with rest of what they needed to do.

Parker turned off the water and opened the shower door, shivering as the cooler air rushed in. Hardison snagged a couple of towels from the rack next to the shower, and they dried off and then wrapped themselves in the towels in silence, both reluctant to leave the relative warmth of the shower stall and the comforting proximity of each other. But they couldn't stay there forever, and the warmth was rapidly dissipating. Parker made the first move, stepping out and over the laundry bag they had sealed their clothes into before starting the shower. In the bedroom, they dug through their respective overnight bags for clean clothes. The trip to D.C. had been meant to be quick, so none of them had packed very much. Parker pulled on the tank top she had slept in the night before and a clean pair of leggings. She hadn't packed any shoes other than the boots she had worn that day, and she wondered if Eliot's instructions to bag their clothes included shoes. Hardison eyed the shirts and pants he had pulled out of his own bag dubiously, and Parker saw him add "clothes shopping" to his mental to-do list. She ran a comb through her wet hair and twisted it back into a bun while he got dressed. Like Parker he was barefoot and she watched as he wriggled his toes against the carpet, apparently unfamiliar with the sensation. She shrugged at him as she looked up and their eyes met. Barefoot was barefoot; for now, he would just have to deal with it.

"Eliot?" Parker asked, checking that they were ready for the next item on their mutual to-do list.

Hardison nodded and opened the door leading out of their bedroom for her.

"You go in first," he said as they crossed the living room that separated their room from Eliot's. "If he's sleeping, you're quiet enough not to wake him."

Parker snorted. No way would Eliot be napping. After four years of working together and dropping in on his home or hotel room at all sorts of unexpected hours of the day and night, she could still count the number of times she had caught him sleeping on one hand. Still, she lightened her tread as she approached his door, just in case. For just one moment as she looked in, she thought she had been wrong. He was stretched out on the bed where they had left him, body relaxed and his head tilted back against the headboard, eyes closed. She paused, thinking he might really be asleep and not wanting to wake him suddenly if that was the case. A floorboard creaked under her feet as she hesitated, and his eyes flicked open immediately, no trace of sleep in them. She recognised his posture now as one of conscious relaxation intended to avoid aggravating the pain that must surely be radiating from those bullet wounds and to enable rest without losing awareness.

"Hey," she said, stepping into the room as his head lifted. "He's awake," she said over her shoulder to where Hardison was hanging back a few steps.

"Hey," Eliot replied.

"Looks like you've been busy," Parker said, taking in the signs of activity surrounding him on the bed.

She was pleased to see the Gatorade bottle was empty, sitting on the nightstand next to a half empty litre bottle of water. He had also emptied out and sorted the remaining contents of the paper bag – mainly gauze and tape and other first aid supplies Parker had picked up earlier during her hurried relocation of their stuff from their old hotel to this one. His cell phone sat between him and one of the first aid piles, next to the hotel-provided notepad and pen which Eliot had used to make notes. His chicken-scratch handwriting was even less easily decipherable than usual from where Parker stood, and she realised he must have been writing with his left hand. Most of the items on the top half of the page had been crossed out, and she suspected it was Eliot's version of the to-do list.

"What needs doing next?" Hardison asked, coming up behind her.

Eliot gestured at the note pad, and Parker picked it up. Hardison read over her shoulder, eyebrows drawing together as he puzzled over the scrawled notes. Parker could make out 'Vance' at the top of the list – it and the sub-item 'car' had been crossed out, but she couldn't make head or tail of the 'incub?24h' that had been circled. It obviously made some sort of sense to Hardison though.

"Twenty-four hour incubation period?" he asked. "Seriously?"

Eliot gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Apparently that's what Udall's research files say," he said. "Vance said he'd let us know if anything shows up to indicate that's wrong."

"Okay," Hardison said, and Parker saw his eyes move on to decipher the next scratched out puzzle piece. "And you called Nate?" he asks when he thinks he's got it.

Eliot nodded.

"Told him we'd try to get a flight the day after tomorrow."

"I texted Sophie, too," Parker said, looking down at the rest of the list, oblivious to the apprehensive looks the boys were exchanging. She couldn't figure out what was directly under Nate's name, but after than it seemed to turn into a shopping list – mostly for more medical supplies, but also some more mundane items that they would have packed has they planned on staying in D.C. for more than one night.

"What exactly did you tell her?" Eliot asked.

"That we stopped a pandemic and are going to hang out here for a day or two because you got shot," Parker shrugged. She handed the note pad to Eliot. "What's this word?"

Eliot shook his head in disbelief as he looked where Parker was pointing on the paper. It was a good thing that Sophie specialised in reading between the lines and had taken the advanced course in communicating with Parker. Most people faced with that message would probably have found a reason or two to panic. It did, however, explain the text he had received from Sophie, asking about bullet holes.

"It's a name, Parker," he told her. "Someone who can sew up bullet holes with fewer questions than hospitals tend to ask."

"Old friend?" Hardison asked.

"'Friend' would be stretching it," Eliot said, a little grimly. "Let's say 'someone who owes me a favour.'"

"Got it," Hardison said

"Speaking of which, I need to get in the shower before she gets here," Eliot said, pushing himself into a more upright sitting position and dropping his feet to the floor.

"She?" Hardison echoed.

"What about the rest of the list?" Parker asked at the same moment.

"Wipe whatever you're thinking from your mind, Hardison," Eliot warned. "Parker, you up for a little shopping trip?"

"Depends," she said, waving a bare foot at him. "Do the boots I was wearing need to be burned?"

"Probably not," Eliot told her. "But there should be some Lysol wipes you can use on them in the side pocket of my bag."

"You need anything besides what's already on the list?" Parker asked, as she picked up Eliot's bag. "Clothes or stuff?"

"I do," Hardison said. "Want me to come with you?"

Parker shook her head.

"Just write it down," she told him. "I'll get it."

She pulled the package of disinfecting wipes from Eliot's bag then opened the main compartment and pulled out clean pants and boxers and a shirt for him. Judging by his bag, Eliot was better prepared for an extra two-day stay than she and Hardison were.

Hardison read back through the list when he finished adding his items.

"You need more shirts or anything?" he asked Eliot.

"I think I brought enough," Eliot said, mentally reviewing the contents of his bag.

But Hardison was holding up the clean shirt Parker had pulled out dubiously.

"How about shirts you don't have to pull over your head?" he asked, nodding at Eliot's shoulder. "You bring any of those? And what about shoes you don't need to lace up?"

Eliot had to concede that he hadn't been thinking about that.

"The shoes are fine, but a button down shirt might be a good idea," he said.

Hardison added that to the list.

"Parker?" he asked, pen poised.

"I know what I need," she said, tearing the page off the note pad in his hands, and picking up the Lysol wipes. "I'll be back in a little bit."


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_Chapter 8 - a.k.a. Hardison attempts to develop a new super-power. :)_

* * *

Hardison made no move to follow Parker. There was a slightly awkward silence as both he and Eliot pondered how to handle the next bit. Hardison broke it first.

"You need some help with all that?" he asked, with a gesture vague enough to encompass pretty much everything from standing to unwinding the clumsy-looking bandaging the paramedics had applied to washing Eliot's hair.

"Yeah," Eliot admitted. "Thanks."

He slid to the edge of the bed, bracing himself for the effort of standing with only one good arm and one good leg for both pushing upwards and maintaining balance. But Hardison was there before he could move further, putting himself in position under Eliot's left shoulder.

They limped through to the bathroom and Hardison flipped the lid down on the toilet so Eliot could sit.

"Where do you want to start?" Hardison asked.

Eliot was already picking at the tape fastening the gauze wrapped around his leg. He could handle that one by himself.

"Can you grab my shaving kit from the bedroom?" he asked Hardison. "There're scissors in there we'll probably need for what's left of my shirt."

Hardison nodded and went back out into the bedroom. By the time he came back, Eliot had the leg wound exposed, a pile of blood-stained gauze dropped in the waste basket next to him, and was prodding at the entry wound on the front of his leg through the hole the paramedics had cut in his jeans.

"Damn," Hardison said, eyes growing wide at the rust-coloured stains of dried blood on Eliot's jeans and the damaged flesh. His eyes dropped to the waste basket and he swallowed convulsively.

Eliot looked up, taking in the grey tint creeping across Hardison's skin.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Hardison replied, lips pressed firmly together.

"Shoulder's going to look worse," Eliot warned. "If you hand me the scissors, I can take care of it."

The implied offer for Hardison to get out and just leave him to it was clear. But Hardison had had enough of letting Parker and Eliot take care of the hard stuff for one day. Just because his strengths were more cerebral, focusing on technology and information gathering, didn't mean he couldn't do the other stuff too. Just like Eliot could do more than punch, and Parker could do more than steal. Hardison shook his head and set his jaw, reaching for the tape fixing the end of the bandage wrapped diagonally across Eliot's chest. Maybe if he did this fast, it wouldn't be so bad.

Hardison did okay through the first couple of rounds of unbandaging, so Eliot kept quiet and focused on not wincing when Hardison's efforts bumped his arm, sending shockwaves of pain through the abused muscles and nerves of his shoulder. But as Hardison encountered first the stiffened crustiness of Eliot's t-shirt where the blood it had absorbed had dried and then the dampness of fresher blood on the layers of gauze closer to the entry and exit wounds, the sensations started to overwhelm his resolve. Eliot heard the change in his breathing – from a carefully controlled inhale and exhale through the nose to the slightly desperate pant of someone trying not to throw up – and looked up just in time to see Hardison close his eyes and sway backwards. Eliot was on his feet faster than he would have thought possible a minute before, pushing Hardison down to sit in his place.

"Dammit, Hardison," he muttered, exasperation lacing his words. Bathrooms, with their hard floors and objects with sharp corners, were no place to risk passing out and hitting your head. If Hardison knew he couldn't deal with the blood, he should have just left Eliot to take care of it himself. "Get your head between your knees and breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth," he advised, a hand between Hardison's shoulder blades not leaving the younger man any choice but to comply.

Eliot listened for a moment, waiting for Hardison's breathing to settle back into a regular pattern. Over the sounds of the air conditioning and the news station he had left playing on the bedroom television, he thought he could still hear Parker moving around the suite. He limp-hopped to the door leading from the bathroom into his bedroom.

"Hey, Parker?" he called out. "You still here?"

She appeared in the other doorway to the bedroom a moment later.

"I was looking for a shirt or jacket or something I could put over this," she explained, gesturing at her tank top. "You think of something else you want me to pick up?"

"No," Eliot said, reflexively noting – and ignoring – her choice of the words 'pick up' rather than 'buy'. He gestured behind him with a jerk of his head. "You think you could...?"

Parker came forward and peered round him.

"Oh," she said, catching sight of Hardison. "Did he pass out?" she asked, curiously.

Eliot shifted aside so she could move past him into the bathroom.

"Not quite," he told her, settling back against the vanity, left arm cradling his right. Parker looked from Hardison's back to the half-unwrapped dressing trailing from Eliot's shoulder.

"You want me to finish that?" she asked him.

"No," Eliot said, tersely. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate their efforts to help, he told himself. It was just that sometimes it was more ... efficient...to take care of it himself. He sighed. "Could you just get Hardison into a different room from the blood? I can take care of the rest."

"I can walk by myself," came a muffled protest from between Hardison's knees.

Parker patted him perfunctorily between the shoulder blades.

"Of course you can," she agreed, rolling her eyes at Eliot. "But we want you to walk without falling over." She hooked a hand under Hardison's one shoulder, and tugged. "Come on."

Hardison went easily enough, mumbling an embarrassed apology to Eliot as they passed him, Hardison's eyes carefully only on Eliot's face and not his shoulder.

"Blood's not for everyone," Eliot brushed it off.

A look of frustration crossed Hardison's face, but he let Parker bundle him through the door. Eliot pushed it closed behind them, and got on with the task of undressing. More fully-functional limbs would definitely have made it easier, but a little creativity and a pair of scissors eventually took care of all the remaining bandages and clothing. It was just as well Hardison hadn't insisted on sticking around, Eliot thought as he inspected what he could see of his shoulder in the mirror. His Superman punch to take Udall out had turned the original entry and exit wounds into jagged holes, and judging by the swelling and bruising around the joint, he had managed some fairly decent muscle tears as well. At least it was a small calibre bullet, he reminded himself. And Udall hadn't got fancy with any of the hollow point or frangible bullets. If he had, Eliot would have been looking at a lot more than a couple of weeks of discomfort and recovery time.

He shoved his clothes and the dirty bandages into the hotel's laundry bag, bending and straightening slowly because the rule about not passing out and hitting your head in bathrooms applied just as much to him as to Hardison. They would have to find a way to dispose of their clothes at some point, but Eliot figured that could wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, he stepped carefully into the shower and let the warm water wash away the remains of the day. The water stung as it hit the open wounds on his leg and his shoulder, but he wanted them clean so he stuck it out, gritting his teeth as he worked the antibacterial soap he always travelled with into a good lather on the surrounding skin.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_A nice long bonus chapter - because Valawenel and suchbadkarma needed more faster. And, as they pointed out, it is already written :) _

_I'm not sure if this makes me more or less sadistic, though..._

* * *

Eliot didn't linger in the shower as Hardison and Parker had. While the fluids he had consumed had helped counteract some of the blood loss, he was still feeling its effects – a lethargy that tugged at the edges of his vision and threatened his coordination and balance. Moreover, his shoulder and leg were getting distinctly less enamoured with the whole standing and moving thing by the minute. Even working as quickly as he dared, fine tremors were running through his muscles by the time he shut the water off. He wrapped a towel around his waist and sat down again on the toilet lid to let it pass. He grabbed a hand towel to dry his hair while he waited – glad that the shorter cut meant he could probably avoid both blow drying it and going to sleep on a damp pillow. He didn't realise how long he had been sitting there until there was a knock at the door.

"Hey, Eliot?" came Hardison's voice. "You all right."

"Yeah," Eliot replied. "Why?"

"The water shut off ages ago, man," Hardison explained. "And you're still in there."

"So?"

"Sooo...you need anything?" Hardison asked.

Eliot looked down at his shoulder. He grabbed a hand towel and draped it over the wounds.

"You can open the door, Hardison," he said. "All the holes are covered up."

Despite this reassurance, the bathroom door opened very slowly and Hardison peered around it cautiously.

"You want the clothes sitting out on your bed?" Hardison asked.

"I can – " Eliot started, then cut himself off. He knew Hardison wanted to help, and he was pretty sure he knew why. He wasn't quite so sure about what lay behind the anger he could see lurking in Hardison's eyes, but they would get to that. "Just the boxers," he amended. There wasn't much point struggling into jeans and a shirt when he'd just have to take them off again to get stitched and bandaged, but he was shivering a little in the air conditioning. "And I think there was a robe hanging on the back of the door?"

Hardison nodded and disappeared again. He was back in moment, handing Eliot the items he had requested.

"How...?"Hardison started awkwardly.

Eliot rolled his eyes.

"I got it," he said. "Just turn around and close your eyes."

Hardison did as he was told, ignoring the sounds of the awkward manoeuvres being performed behind him as Eliot got dressed.

"You feeling better?" Eliot asked at one point.

"Yeah," Hardison said. "Sorry about that...guess I'll have to be an astronaut rather than a surgeon when I grow up after all."

Eliot grunted.

"You decent?" Hardison asked.

"Yeah," Eliot replied, and Hardison turned round. Eliot had presumably managed the boxers just fine, but the robe didn't look like it had been such a success. The right sleeve was twisted oddly and bunching up at the shoulder, pulling the left side round in an equally awkward manner. And while Eliot had tied the belt, it wasn't doing very much in the way of holding the robe closed across his chest. It didn't look like the process had been painless either. Eliot's jaw was clenched tight enough to make Hardison's ache looking at it, and there was fresh sweat beading his upper lip.

"Could you not just ask for help?" Hardison asked in frustration, stepping forward and reaching to adjust the robe.

Eliot batted his hands away, and Hardison opened his mouth to let loose a lecture about macho idiots who needed to learn that the work half of 'teamwork' might end when the job was done, but the team half carried on over. Eliot beat him to it, however.

"Shoulder's still bleeding," he said gruffly.

"Oh," Hardison stopped. "Okay...ummm..."

Hardison didn't want to embarrass himself again. The earlier incident hadn't much helped the point he was trying to make (mostly to himself) that he could do the practical stuff too. But Eliot really did look uncomfortable sitting there in that twisted-up robe. And forewarned was forearmed, wasn't it?

"I stuck a towel under the robe," Eliot went on, "but it probably doesn't look a whole lot better than earlier."

Hardison nodded, but he had gathered his resolve now, and was tugging at the knotted belt. Eliot watched him warily, but made no move to stop him this time.

"I won't look," Hardison said as Eliot slid his left arm back out of the sleeve. Relying on his sense of touch, he found the folded towel under the robe on Eliot's right shoulder, and held it in place with one hand while he eased the right sleeve the rest of the way up Eliot's arm and over the towel before offering Eliot the armhole for the left sleeve again. Checking again that the towel was lying flat and smooth in the right position, he crossed the front halves of the robe and tied them in place with the belt.

"Better?" he asked Eliot.

"Thanks," Eliot said. "Maybe if the astronaut thing doesn't work out, you could still be a nurse."

"Oh, you think that's funny, don't you?" Hardison glared at him from lowered brows, not giving him a chance to protest help standing and making his way back to the bedroom.

"Little bit, yeah," Eliot replied, noticing but going along with Hardison's 'smooth' manoeuvre to avoid an argument about whether he needed help. One of these days Hardison was going to realise that Eliot had no problem either asking for or accepting help when he actually needed it – which, yeah, right now, to cover the distance back to the bed, he probably did. Hardison just needed to adjust his definition of 'need' to figure it out.

"Yeah, well we see who's laughing when your front porch is buried under porno magazines."

Eliot smirked.

"Baby magazines, then," Hardison amended. "All those articles about Diaper Genies and breastfeeding."

"I like babies," Eliot said mildly. 'And I like – "

"iPads, then," Hardison cut in quickly. "I know you hate those."

"I'll make a fortune on the yard sale," Eliot pointed out.

Hardison muttered something under his breath in a language Eliot was sure wasn't spoken by any nation on earth.

"Why can't you be like everyone else and actually use technology so that I can occasionally get revenge on you?" Hardison complained, only half joking.

"You'll come up with something eventually, man," Eliot told him as Hardison helped him back onto the bed. "I have faith in your creativity."

"Someday," Hardison promised. He watched as Eliot selected some disposable ice packs from the first aid supplies Parker had picked up earlier and settled them on his leg and shoulder. He frowned as he noticed both sets of wounds had already bled through onto the robe. "What time's your doctor friend supposed to be here?" he asked.

"Not a friend," Eliot muttered. He glanced at the clock and added more clearly, "Ten or fifteen minutes. But she'll make a point of being late."

"You know you're still bleeding, right?" Hardison asked.

Eliot jerked upright with a curse. The blood-stained clothes and towels and robe were going to be enough of a pain to deal with. He really didn't want to bleed all over the bed on top of that.

"Can you grab me a couple more towels?" he asked Hardison.

"Bleeding on the bedspread? That's what you're worried about?" Hardison's voice carried back as he went to get the extra towels from the bathroom off the bedroom he and Parker were sharing.

"Hotel staff tend to call the cops when they find a whole lot of blood lying around," Eliot explained when Hardison came back. "We don't need the extra attention."

He took one of the towels, folded it, and placed it under his left thigh. Hardison did the same with the other, helping position it under Eliot's right shoulder.

"I found some popcorn in the kitchen," Hardison said. "I was thinking about making it and watching a movie or something while we wait for Parker and you not-a-friend-doc. You want some?"

Eliot shook his head.

"I'll trade you the remote for that second bottle of Gatorade over there, though?" he offered.

"Deal," Hardison said, accepting Eliot's implied invitation to hold movie night in his room instead of out in the living room as he turned to get the Gatorade. This one was also red...Hardison wondered if Parker knew that didn't actually make it any better for dealing with blood loss...He cracked the seal and handed the bottle to Eliot, then went to make popcorn and grab a soda from the kitchenette. By the time he came back, Eliot had downed the Gatorade and switched back to water, the bottle held loosely in his left hand as his eyes drifted closed. He blinked sluggishly at Hardison as the younger man settled on the other side of the bed and picked up the remote.

That sluggishness worried Hardison, who was used to Eliot's usual hyper-alert mode.

"Hey, E?" he said, reaching across to gauge the temperature of the other man's skin. It didn't feel particularly cool to Hardison, but he'd never been sure about the whole taking-a-temperature-with-the-back-of-your-hand thing anyway. "You falling asleep or bleeding out?"

"...sleeping...," Eliot slurred, hazily enough to negate any reassurance that may have been intended.

Hardison scrambled back around to Eliot's side of the bed, narrowly avoiding sending the bowl of popcorn flying. The towel under Eliot's leg was still mostly white, and it felt dry where Hardison slid his fingers underneath Eliot's leg. The one under his shoulder was harder to see. The corner peeking up at the top was white and dry, but the pillows might have provided enough lift for gravity to ensure any blood flowed the other way. He really didn't want to start shifting Eliot around and upset any clotting that had started, but if he needed to be dialling 911, he needed to know now. He nudged Eliot's ribs.

"Roll over a little," he told him.

Eliot looked up at him, his expression more alert but perhaps wondering if Hardison was losing it.

"I need to see if you're bleeding, Eliot," Hardison said, panic running just beneath the surface of his voice. "Roll over."

"Of course I'm bleeding, Hardison," Eliot sounded annoyed as well as confused now. "That's why we put the towels there."

"Just – " Hardison wasn't waiting any longer. He pushed harder on Eliot's ribs, and this time Eliot complied, rolling far enough to his left that Hardison could check the towel under his shoulder. There was blood, and maybe enough that over the course of four or five hours it would become an issue if it kept up, but not so much that another twenty minutes would be a problem. Hardison let out a gusty sigh of relief, not even noticing the absence of his usual squeamishness. He guided Eliot's shoulder back down to the pillows, then dropped back to sit on the floor, elbows resting on bent knees and hands cupping his head.

"What the hell, Hardison?!" Eliot demanded.

"You were –. You weren't –" Hardison stammered. He took a conscious, calming breath and tried again. "Could you just stay awake and coherent until you're all sewn up, please?" he asked. "I'm full up on panic and emergencies for today."

"Who's having panic and emergencies?" Parker demanded, appearing soundlessly in the doorway with a collection of shopping bags.

"Not us," Hardison said firmly, standing up. "We're having popcorn and mindless television. And then Eliot's going to have stitches, and everything's going back to normal."

"Okay," Parker said, as if that were a perfectly normal plan for an evening. "I think I got everything on the list."

Eliot shook his head. Hardison and Parker were just never going to make complete sense. Parker added the collection of carrier bags to the piles littering his bed, and started sorting them into first aid supplies, and clothes and entertainment for the next forty-eight hours for each of them.

"I put the snacks in the kitchen," she said. Then, catching sight of the two empty Gatorade bottles, "And more Gatorade in the fridge."

"Thanks, Parker," Eliot said.

Hardison picked up the bags that needed to go through to his and Parker's room, while Eliot sorted through the new first aid supplies. He chucked the thermometer at Parker.

"Here," he said. "You were the closest to the virus. Check your temperature."

Disinfectant, sterile gauze pads, waterproof patches to keep wounds dry in the shower, antibiotics, painkillers – both Tylenol and Percocet, medical tape...Eliot's bed was starting to look like a pharmacy.

"Any chance you found the local anaesthetic?" he asked.

"Yes," Parker set aside the thermometer and came to look through the piles. She pulled out a tube of topical anaesthetic.

Damn it, he should have explained the difference between a topical and local anaesthetic. Still, it would be better than nothing.

"Thanks," he said again.

"So, what are we watching?" Parker asked as Hardison came back into the room. They both settled into the spot on the bed Hardison had cleared earlier, Hardison reaching for the popcorn and Parker sticking the thermometer under her tongue.

They found the second half of an episode of _Psych_ and left it on that: when you actually spend the day saving the world, watching someone do it with humour isn't a bad start to the evening. Eliot checked the time as Shawn wrapped up his Big Reveal on screen: he wanted Hardison and Parker out of the suite by the time the doc showed up.

"Why don't the two of you go get some dinner or something?" he suggested.

Hardison and Parker exchanged looks.

"We had popcorn," Hardison said. "We can wait till you're ready."

The subtle approach obviously wasn't going to work. Eliot sighed.

"Remember I said the doc I called was someone who owed me a favour rather than being a friend?" he asked.

They nodded.

"Well, she doesn't owe you any favours, so it would be better if she doesn't know about you," he said bluntly. "She should be here soon, so she'll probably be gone by the time you're done eating...I'll let you know when the coast is clear."

More looks.

"You want us to bring something back for you?" Parker asked reluctantly.

Eliot tried to think of something that would keep them away from the hotel for an hour or two.

"How about steak?" he suggested. "There's a good steakhouse a couple of blocks east from here."

"Okay," Hardison said, pulling out his phone to look up the directions. "Is this it?"

Eliot took the phone.

"No," he said. He flipped back a page and looked at the map Hardison had pulled up. "It's called RJ's or P&J's or something...Here, this one. And get the sweet potato fries."

The last comment seemed to jumpstart their enthusiasm for leaving. Eliot called ahead to make them a reservation. He had struck up a friendship with the owner-cum-chef over the years, and had exchanged enough cooking tips to now be able to request not only a table at the last minute for a couple of friends, but also to mention that he would really appreciate it if their meal followed a leisurely pace and know that Hardison and Parker would be kept deliciously and unobtrusively occupied for at least an hour and half, no explanation needed.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_Thank you for the lovely reviews - and for being excited when an extra chapter appears! Barring intervening Acts of God, there should be another chapter up tonight. In the meantime, Parker and Hardison are going to play Harriet the Spy - although without any tomato sandwiches :)._

* * *

Hardison and Parker left the suite but not the hotel.

"I want to see who he called," Parker whispered to Hardison once they were in the hall.

He nodded.

"Hell, I don't just want to see her," he told her. "I want to know who she is and what kind of favour she owes Eliot."

"He'll kill us if he catches us snooping," Parker said.

"Nah," Hardison said. "But he probably won't cook for us for a while."

"So, quiet and sneaky?" Parker suggested.

"Quiet and sneaky," Hardison agreed. "And we never let it slip we spied on him."

"We also have to go and eat steak," Parker reminded him. "I bet Eliot is friends with someone at that steakhouse, and they'll call him if we don't show up."

"You're right," Hardison acknowledged. "But we might get lost and be late."

"So what's the plan?"

"We wait for her to show up, get her photo or her ID, and we'll research her over dinner."

Parker nodded, eyes already scanning the hallway for the best places to catch a photo or lift a wallet from the mystery woman.

The problem, of course, was that they didn't know who they were looking for, and apparently it was rush hour in their hallway. Hardison had photos of five women – and two men, because it was entirely possible Eliot was deliberately misleading them with his pronouns – and Parker had lifted three wallets before one of the women knocked on the door to their suite. Hardison had already photographed her as she exited the elevator so they both ducked out of sight before Eliot answered the door. If they had been hoping he would greet her by name and speed up their identification, they would have been disappointed. But after four years, they knew Eliot didn't slip like that. Neither he nor the woman said anything. Parker and Hardison waited another moment after they heard the door close, just to be sure the coast was clear, then went back to the elevators – and this time rode down to the lobby. By the time they reached it, Hardison had the photo running through his facial recognition program. There wasn't much else they could do until they had a name, but they still hesitated in the lobby.

"This feels wrong," Parker said.

"Spying on Eliot?" Hardison asked.

"Leaving him alone," Parker corrected him.

Hardison sighed.

"I know," he said. "But he's okay, and he doesn't want us there."

Parker nodded. She hadn't meant they should do anything differently...she was just saying it felt wrong.

"So we go eat steak," Parker said.

Hardison wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they stepped out onto the street.

"We eat steak," he agreed.

* * *

They weren't even late enough for their reservation to have to pull out the lost-tourists excuse. Hardison's phone pinged when they were halfway through their appetiser: facial recognition had found a match. _Millicent Hernandez._ Hardison passed the phone over to Parker. It wasn't much: just a Virginia driver's license.

Parker shrugged and handed the phone back. Hardison started digging into Millicent's life, in between bites of food. He didn't find much, even though they ate their way through the rest of the appetiser, steaks with sweet potato fries, and a hot fudge brownie sundae. By the time they were ordering Eliot's steak to go, he knew she was fifty-two, and had a son and a late husband, and that she had trained as a surgeon but had her license revoked almost a decade ago. There wasn't much detail available in electronic form from that time, but it seemed to coincide with her husband racking up a sizeable gambling debt and owing money to people it was better not to owe anything to. These days, she worked an office job with an insurance company. There was nothing obvious to show where her path had crossed Eliot's significantly enough for her to owe him a favour. Which told Hardison she was probably damn good at keeping secrets.

He shook his head, putting the phone aside to help Parker polish off the last few bites of the brownie sundae.

"Looks like she's mostly just a regular person," he told Parker.

"Weird," she said.

Hardison shrugged.

"I guess we all know some regular people," he said. "I mean there's my Nana, and your friend Peggy. Nate knows lots of regular people, and Eliot's horse trainer friend seemed like just a normal guy, and Sophie..."

Hardison stopped. He couldn't actually think of any regular people Sophie had introduced them to...her friend Theresa with the Italian restaurant had been married to a man tied up in mob business, Tara was definitely not regular, Stark and Vlad were both conmen, and as for the "aunt" in London, well, she certainly counted as at least eccentric.

"...Sophie has her acting class," he finished.

Parker scraped up the last of the hot fudge sauce.

"Eliot called her," she pointed out, an apparent non sequitur.

"Meaning...?" Hardison asked.

Parker shrugged.

"He must trust her to take care of what he needs done," she said. "Maybe that should be enough."

"But then why did he want us gone before she got there?"

"I don't know," Parker shrugged again. "I guess what I'm saying is that, since we didn't find anything bad about her, maybe it doesn't matter."

"You don't want to know?" Hardison was baffled by that. Missing pieces of information were like an itch he couldn't quite reach.

"I don't need to know," Parker said. "So if Eliot doesn't want to tell us how he knows her or why he didn't want us to meet her, that's okay."

Hardison chewed on that as their waitress delivered the take-away bag and their bill. He looked at his watch as he pulled out his wallet to pay.

"It's been almost two hours," he said. "Think we should head back?"

Parker frowned. On the one hand, Eliot had said he would call when the coast was clear. On the other, he wouldn't appreciate a good steak being allowed to go cold. Or the sweet potato fries getting soggy.

She nodded.

Hardison slipped cash into the billfold, then pocketed his wallet and phone as he slid out of the booth. Parker checked the billfold to make sure he had included a tip that reflected both the excellence of the food and service and the fact it was always wise to stay on the good side of Eliot's friends. Satisfied, she also stood, picking up the take-away bag, and led the way out.

Parker set a fast pace on the way back to the hotel.

"Slow down, girl," Hardison protested. "What's the rush?"

"I don't want Eliot's fries to get soggy," she explained, but she did reduce her speed a little.

Hardison gave a slightly breathless laugh.

"Yeah, that's Eliot all right," he said. "Get shot? Walk it off. Soggy fries? Pitch a fit."

"He cares about food," Parker said, remembering her recent stint as a food critic while Eliot was masquerading as executive chef. "About the effort someone put into making it."

"I know," Hardison said, even though he hadn't found Eliot particularly sympathetic to his own culinary forays...especially those involving lasers. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders as he caught up with her, tugging her into his side in a one-armed embrace that had the added benefit of keeping her pace to one at which he could breathe.


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_I know: this little bit doesn't really count as a chapter...it just didn't work well as part of either the preceding or following one. A REAL second chapter for the day will be along momentarily._

* * *

Millicent Hernandez was getting into a taxi as Parker and Hardison approached the entrance. She didn't look like someone who had just spent a couple of hours sewing up bullet wounds. Her face, in the brief moment their paths intersected, was almost expressionless, just the slightest puckering around the eyes and mouth, as if she were engaged in a task she found mildly distasteful.

"Well, I guess the coast is clear," Hardison said, as the door to the hotel lobby closed behind them.

"Eliot doesn't know we know that," Parker pointed out.

"Good point," Hardison said, checking his phone. "He called or texted you?"

Parker pulled out her phone to check, just in case she had missed a message. She shook her head.

_Done yet?"_ Hardison typed into a text message. Expecting a quick response, he kept his phone out as he and Parker walked towards the elevators. Ten seconds, then twenty and thirty, passed. Nothing.

Parker pressed the elevator call button.

"Maybe he left his phone in the bathroom with his clothes when he showered earlier?" she suggested.

Hardison shook his head.

"It was on the bedside table when we left."

The elevator doors opened and they got on. They rode the twenty-two floors up in silence, the buzzing of Hardison's phone conspicuously absent. They eyed each other warily as they alighted on their floor and faced the suite door.

"So, do we go in and risk his wrath for not waiting for the all clear?" Hardison asked.

Parker looked at the door. Eliot should have answered the text by now. She could see the same thought on Hardison's face when she glanced over at him. She looked down at the steakhouse bag she held, then back at Hardison.

"The fries might get soggy," she said, sliding the room key into the lock.


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_See? A real second chapter. Happy reading!_

* * *

Nothing looked out of place when they stepped into the suite. Granted, they hadn't really used the living room or kitchen up to this point, but the things they had put there all looked like they were where they had left them. Parker put the food they had brought back for Eliot down in the kitchen.

"Eliot?" Hardison called. "You here?"

The door to his room was closed. Parker knocked, and waited. No answer.

"Eliot, I'm coming in," she warned, pushing the door open slowly.

And, yeah. Here was the wreckage.

The floor next to the bed was littered with the detritus of medical aid: a half empty bottle of disinfectant; used rubber gloves, gauze, and sponges; torn wrapping and boxes from various supplies. No effort seemed to have been made to either contain or dispose of the waste. In its midst stood a waste basket from which the acrid smell of fresh vomit rose sharply. Half the bed still contained the remaining supplies that Eliot had stacked there, although the stacks had largely disintegrated into a patchy jumble. Eliot was on the other half, bed clothes and the blood-stained towels and robe from earlier rucked up under and around him.

He was on his side, head pillowed on one arm and pointed towards the foot of the bed, and his back was to the door. Not a position Eliot would have chosen, Hardison noted. The bullet wounds he could see from the doorway had been stitched but not bandaged, and an IV line ran from a bag of saline to a cannula that had been inserted – but not taped in place – in his left hand. Hardison swallowed down bile, trying not to imagine the sensation of the needle shifting inside his vein. And, _damn!_, if that was Eliot's left hand, that meant the arm stretched up under his head was the _right_...that had to hurt.

Anger joined the slow roil of nausea in Hardison's gut, getting his feet moving again to follow Parker into the room. She was crouched beside the bed, talking quietly to Eliot. She didn't seem to be getting much in the way of a response, but as Hardison dropped down next to her, pain-hazed blue eyes found his and focused. Up close, Hardison could see that not all the vomit had made it into the waste basket; there were streaks on Eliot's chin and chest, and on the towel his upper body was lying on.

"Damn, Eliot," Hardison said, his hand reaching out to comb through the sweat-soaked roots of his friend's hair. "What the hell did that woman do to you?"

Eliot just gave a small shake of his head.

"Okay," Hardison backed off. "Explanations can wait. Let's get you cleaned up and comfortable first."

Eliot moistened dry lips.

"Need to tape my hand," he said.

"Yeah," Hardison agreed, suppressing a shudder as shifting needles again intruded on his thoughts.

Parker was already moving to pick up the medical tape. She tore off a few strips and fixed the cannula and tubing securely in place on Eliot's arm.

"Pain pills?" Parker suggested.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Where?" she asked.

"Between the couch cushions," Eliot told her.

"What?!" Hardison exclaimed. Parker had already disappeared through the door. "Why?"

"She would have taken them," Eliot said.

Hardison frowned. There would definitely be explanations later, because there weren't many scenarios he could think of that started with owing someone a favour and ended with leaving them lying in their own vomit and stealing their pain pills.

"How many?" Parker was back.

Eliot hesitated. Percocet always knocked him out harder than he liked, but he had already pushed past the pain limits it made any sense to endure. And he really didn't want to throw up a third time.

"Two," he said reluctantly.

Parker shook out the pills and placed them in his left hand, then picked up a glass of water from the floor beside her. Eliot slipped the pills between his lips and took the glass. She had only poured a swallow or two of water – enough for him to get the pills down easily, not so much it would spill everywhere when drinking from an awkward position.

"Thanks," he said, handing the glass back.

Parker nodded.

"Tell us when they kick in."

She stepped away. Eliot heard her take the glass back to the kitchen, then return and start cleaning up the mess next to the bed. Hardison was still crouched beside him, one hand resting in Eliot's hair. Part of him wanted to object, or pull away, but it was a sensation unlinked with pain, intended to soothe rather than hurt, and that was...nice.

* * *

Parker passed by on the way to the bathroom, waste basket in one hand and a collection of dirty towels over the other arm.

"Alec, can you clear all that stuff off the bed?" she asked.

Hardison ran his thumb over Eliot's forehead one more time, then stood.

"Sure," he said. "Where do you want it?"

"Just dump it in the dresser or something for now," Parker called from the bathroom.

Eliot heard water running, first swishing sounds as she cleaned out the waste basket, then the steady sound of the tub filling up.

"Cold water," Eliot said.

"What?" Hardison asked, pausing in the process of relocating all the items scattered across the bed to the dresser drawers.

Eliot was starting to drift. He could feel the medication lifting him above the waves of pain. He pictured it as a surfboard he could ride to shore, and felt a goofy grin start to twitch at the corners of his mouth. He struggled to find a more coherent thought for Hardison.

"Gets the blood out better," he said. "Tell her."

"Oh," Hardison replied.

Eliot didn't pay much attention after that, just letting the surfboard carry him for a while. He was brought abruptly back to ground by Parker poking him.

"Ow," he said, but without any real conviction. She hadn't picked any of his more painful body parts.

"You were supposed to tell us when the pain pills started working," she reminded him.

"Oh," he said. He thought about the surfboard again. Maybe the second Percocet had been unnecessary. "They're working."

"Time to move, then," she said.

"Okay."

He tried to help, but his brain wasn't processing things very well just then, and Parker's idea of directions generally required a fair amount of interpretation. Hardison took hold of the IV bag, trying to keep the line from tangling round everything.

"Just stop, Eliot," Parker said in exasperation after the first couple of tries. "Let us do this first part."

She sounded like she was about three steps away from bursting into tears, and the surprise at hearing that note in her voice ground Eliot to a halt. He turned his head to look at her, and she used that movement to roll him onto his back.

"Parker?" he asked, but she just shook her head.

"This is going to hurt," she warned him. She straddled his chest to reach his right arm, guiding it down to rest by his side. A wordless cry slipped between his lips before he reminded himself to breathe through it, and he clenched his jaw against the string of obscenities washing around his back teeth. Maybe the second Percocet hadn't been overkill after all.

"Okay?" Parker asked, when his breathing settled back down.

Eliot nodded, and she moved to lift his legs off the bed, setting his feet on the floor. Getting the idea, Eliot rolled further to his left and then used that arm to push himself into a sitting position.

The room rocked around him.

"Whoa," he said, catching himself against the bed with his left hand.

Parker patted his leg sympathetically.

"Wibbly-wobbly," she said. "I know."

"Yeah."

A warm washcloth seemed to appear from nowhere, efficiently wiping the vestiges of vomit and sweat from his face and chest and arms. He was vaguely surprised to find Parker the one wielding it. It seemed more like something Sophie or Nate would do. She wouldn't meet his eyes, though, and he couldn't tell whether she was uncomfortable doing it or if she thought he was uncomfortable having it done.

"Use Hardison to stand up," Parker instructed, picking up the last towel from the bed and taking it and the washcloth through to the bathroom.

Eliot reached for Hardison's shoulder. He had done this several times earlier in the day, but the wibbly-wobbly painkillers were making coordination as well as coherent thought very hard. They managed it between them, however.

"No more Percocet," Eliot muttered, as Parker slipped back around them. He watched hazily as she checked to make sure the bed clothes were clean, then straightened and folded them back.

"Okay," Hardison agreed, helping him sit back down.

Parker stopped him before he could lie back against the pillows.

"We need to at least get those covered," she said, gesturing between the stitched wounds on his shoulder and thigh.

Hardison handed her the IV bag and fetched the gauze pads, medical tape, and bandages from the drawer he had tipped them into just minutes before. Parker made quick work of taping pads over each of the four wounds and re-wrapping his thigh. The shoulder gave her more pause, and she revised her earlier mental criticism of the job the paramedic had done: there just wasn't a good way to get the bandages to stay where they needed to be. She frowned at her handiwork.

"That feel okay?" she asked Eliot.

He snorted, then yawned.

"Nothing feels like much of anything right now," he admitted. "Ask me again in a couple of hours."

"I will," Parker nodded, then nudged Eliot to lie back. This presented a slight problem for the IV. The only thing Hardison could see to hang it from was the bedside lamp, but with Eliot facing the right way on the bed, the lamp was on the wrong side, and either his arm or the IV line would have to lie across his body to make that work. They could try moving him to the other side of the bed, but it looked like Eliot was already riding the medicated waves of sleep, and probably wouldn't be much help.

"Give it to me," Parker told him. She was standing in the middle of the bed, a coat hanger in one hand. Wordlessly, he handed it to her it to her and she slid the hook through the hanging tab at the top of the bag, then hooked it onto the frame of the painting hanging over the bed.

"Huh," Hardison and Eliot said together, and Parker gave a small, tight-lipped smile. She liked surprising them. She stepped lightly off the bed.

"Thanks," Eliot said drowsily. "I owe you both one."

Hardison felt the anger that had been vibrating through Parker since they stepped into the room ramp up to a new frequency.

"No," she said emphatically, "you don't. I'm tired of people owing people things, and trading favours for favours. You'd do it for us, and we'll do it for you again if we need to, because we take care of each other. Let's just leave it at that."

Both men stared in startled silence at her outburst.

"I'm going to take out the trash," she said, wanting to escape the scrutiny.

"Parker."

It was Eliot's voice but Hardison's hand that stopped her. She could have shaken it off, but she let them.

"Why would she leave you like that?" she rounded on Eliot, tears welling in her eyes. "She obviously hurt you while she was here, and the way she left you was designed to cause more pain, whether you stayed still or tried to get up...If that's what owing favours means, I don't want any of them between us."

Eliot sighed. Explaining this to Parker and Hardison was going to be like trying to get Sophie to understand about MMA fighting. Doing it on drugs was going to make it especially fun.

"She'll have done a good job on the stitches," he said. "And she checked all my vitals and left me with the IV to counteract the blood loss... The rest...it's only pain. Sucks in the short term, but no lasting damage."

"I don't care," Parker said. "I don't want what keeps the team working to be anything like what brought her here tonight."

Hardison twitched a little beside her.

"It's not," Eliot said, trying not to let his words slur. That didn't really explain anything, though, and it didn't look like Parker was willing to take blanket reassurances. He sighed again.

"She's not an old teammate, Parker," he said. "It's...complicated."

"Complicated how?" Hardison asked.

"Years ago, she and her husband had information I needed," Eliot said.

"You...?" Hardison made a vague gesture that nonetheless conveyed what he meant quite clearly.

"Just him," Eliot replied. But that sounded like an excuse, or a justification, or something. So he added, "In front of her...And when the people who had what I was after figured out he'd been the one to talk, they killed him."

"How does that translate into her owing you a favour?" Hardison asked, confused.

"I was also the one who saved her son when everything went FUBAR," Eliot said, reluctantly. "You ever owed someone you have good reason to hate something like that?"

It was a rhetorical question, but both Hardison and Parker shook their heads.

"It's not a good feeling," Eliot said, eyes drifting closed again. "So if she took the opportunity to inflict a little pain of her own tonight, I get it."

"It's still wrong," Parker protested.

Eliot gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"I can take the punishment," he said. "And she knows that...Only idiots dish out more pain than they can handle themselves."

Hardison and Parker were silent, not entirely convinced that the grey-faced, semi-conscious, sweat- and vomit-covered mess they had found Eliot in really counted as 'handling' the pain.

"What did she do?" Hardison asked, eventually.

Eliot was three-quarters asleep.

"Eighty-six stitches without anaesthetic," he slurred.

"I-I'm going to take the trash out," Parker said again, shakily, picking up the bag of waste she had gathered earlier.

Hardison lingered a moment longer after she left the room.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said, in case the other man was still awake. "I'm just going to make sure Parker's okay...And not about to set off on some kind of revenge mission," he added under his breath.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_Another quickie, so I'll post a second one in a moment. I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking when I did the chapter breaks :)_

* * *

Hardison was too late to catch Parker on her way out to find the housekeeping closet with the trash chute for that floor, but was waiting for her when she returned a couple of minutes later.

"You all right?" he asked as she closed the door behind her.

Parker nodded. She came to sit beside him on the couch, curling her knees up under her chin.

"E's really okay," he tried to reassure her. "The physical stuff doesn't bother him."

"I know," she said.

"Then what's got you tied in knots?"

Parker shrugged.

"Maybe it should bother him," she said.

"I don't think he could do his job if it did," Hardison pointed out.

"And maybe I feel like we let him down or something by leaving earlier."

"Parker..." Hardison protested. They had covered that ground.

"I know," Parker replied, not wanting to rehash it either. "But...we did something good today. And she really hurt him. It isn't fair that it ended like this."

Hardison snaked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer while he thought about that.

"She doesn't know what we did," he reasoned. "Probably thought E got shot going after some piece of art, or a weapons deal or drugs or something... And you heard him: what happened tonight was just part of the trade...getting what he needed by accepting how she was willing to provide it."

Hardison stopped. Normally it was Parker trying to explain these things to him. It felt strange sitting on the other side of that equation.

"Besides," he continued, trying now to lighten the mood. "It doesn't change how hard we rocked today – and, baby, we rocked hard."

It got him a small smile.

"Totally awesome," she agreed.

But her eyes drifted back over to Eliot's door.

"Do you think Eliot would mind if we..." Parker trailed off, not quite sure how the sentence should end.

"...had a slumber party in there?" Hardison finished for her. "He's drugged so far to the gills right now that I don't think he'd notice if we had a keg party in there."

Parker yawned.

"I like Plan A better," she said.


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_This chapter is a more satisfying length...I guess Eliot and Hardison needed a longer heart-to-heart than Parker and Hardison did!_

* * *

Eliot woke a few hours later to find a couple of ice packs on his shoulder, an empty IV attached to his left hand, and a thief and a hacker in his bed. Hardison was on the far side of the king bed, watching something on the television at low volume; Parker was curled up around a pillow in between them, somewhere around their knees, apparently asleep.

Hardison looked over as Eliot slid the IV needle out of his hand, and pressed down on the small puncture wound to stop the bleeding.

"Hey," he said in greeting.

"Hey," Eliot replied. He released the grip he had on his left hand and inspected it. Still bleeding a little. He stuck his thumb back in place.

"Here," Hardison was holding out a square of gauze and piece of tape.

"Thanks," Eliot took them, fixed the gauze in place, and then pushed himself carefully to a sitting position, readjusting the ice packs on his right shoulder. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand.

"... Time's it?" he asked.

"Two," Hardison told him, then squinted at the clock." Maybe three. You doing okay?"

Eliot nodded.

"Like I said, no lasting effects," he said. "How about you two? You okay?"

"We're fine," Hardison said, but Eliot frowned down at Parker.

"No fever or chills or anything?" he asked.

"Nah," Hardison replied. "And, yes, we've been checking."

"Good," Eliot grunted, pushing the bed covers off him and beginning the laborious process of standing.

"Where you going?" Hardison asked.

"Bathroom," Eliot told him.

"Need help getting there?"

"We'll see in a moment," Eliot pushed to his feet.

Parker stirred as the weight distribution on the bed shifted.

"Just me getting up," Eliot soothed. "Go back to sleep."

To Hardison's surprise, she did. Eliot and Parker and their weird sibling-like relationship: three mysteries he was never going to solve. He tried really hard not to be jealous when that affinity between them pushed him to the sidelines. Right now, though, he was watching Eliot test out his leg. The first few steps went okay, but, by the time he reached the foot of the bed, Eliot couldn't ignore the shakiness. And all the walls and furniture were on the wrong side of his body to be of any use as support.

"Might need a little help," he conceded.

"Should have kept that crutch," Hardison commented, as he came around the bed.

Eliot just grunted.

"We can get you another one in the morning," Hardison offered.

Eliot shook his head. He brought his left hand up, backs of his fingers pressing briefly against Hardison's neck to confirm the claim of no fever before settling to grip Hardison's shoulder.

"It'll be better tomorrow," he said.

Hardison just rolled his eyes. He would believe that when he saw it.

"I got it from here," Eliot said when they reached the bathroom door. "Thanks."

"Sure," Hardison replied, settling back down on the bed to continue watching his movie as the door closed behind Eliot.

* * *

When the door re-opened a few minutes later, Hardison started to get up again, but Eliot waved him off, using the walls and furniture for support instead. He paused as he drew abreast of Parker, repeating his skin temperature test on her. Satisfied, he straightened and continued on his way.

"Where're you going now?" Hardison asked, as Eliot bypassed the turn back to his side of the bed and continued following the wall towards the door leading out into the living room and kitchenette.

"Need to eat something so I can take the antibiotics," Eliot explained.

"I can get it for you," Hardison offered, feet swinging off the bed. "Why don't you go back to bed?"

Eliot didn't stop or turn around.

"I'm fine," he said.

Hardison sighed, dropping back against the pillows. _Damn macho idiots who had to do everything for themselves._ Arguing with Eliot would be pointless, so Hardison left him to it. He kept an eye on the clock, though; if Eliot's butt wasn't back in bed in ten minutes, Hardison was going after him.

* * *

And, of course, ten minutes later there was no sign of the hitter. Hardison could tell the movie was reaching its rather predictable denouement, so he waited the additional few minutes for it to play out before picking up his empty popcorn bowl and soda bottles and heading for the kitchen. He left the tv playing as background noise for Parker.

Eliot had found some peanut butter crackers and another bottle of water, and had settled down on one of the couches, flipping through a magazine describing the various area attractions, historical sites, and dining and entertainment options. He looked up as Hardison came through the door.

"Movie over?" he asked.

Hardison nodded, dropping the empty bottles in the recycling container, and setting the popcorn bowl down net to the microwave. He wandered over to join Eliot on the couch, frowning at Eliot's chosen snack.

"We brought you back steak," he commented. "You didn't want that?"

"This is quicker and easier," Eliot said, holding up a cracker. "I plan on being back asleep in about twenty minutes."

"Oh," was the only comment Hardison could muster.

Eliot ate another cracker, and Hardison yawned, his head dropping back against the couch cushions.

"You should get some sleep, too," Eliot suggested.

"Tried that," Hardison said, rubbing his eyes. He dropped his hands and turned his head to look ruefully at Eliot. "Kept dreaming about pigs...and bombs."

Eliot grimaced.

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "It might be a while before a BLT sounds like a good lunch option again."

"I also kind of wish I'd never read all that stuff about the 1918 flu pandemic," Hardison admitted, eyes sliding away from Eliot's.

Eliot studied him in silence, reading between the lines of that comment.

"We'll keep a close eye on her," he promised, when he thought he'd heard all the things Hardison wasn't saying. "The first sign of a sniffle or cough, and we'll get her the best medical treatment out there."

"I know," Hardison replied, but he had folded in on himself, arms crossed over his chest in defensive and angry posture. His eyes lifted to Eliot's again, but didn't hold the clear blue gaze fixed on him. He really didn't want a fight with Eliot right now.

"Hardison..." Eliot started.

"I don't want to talk about it," Hardison cut him off, pushing himself to his feet.

There was a tense beat of silence.

"I think we need to," Eliot said quietly.

"What's there to talk about?" Hardison said angrily. "It all worked out in the end, right? So no harm, no foul."

He snatched up the wrapper from the crackers Eliot had been eating and stalked to the kitchen, throwing it in the trash. He kept his back to Eliot when he got there, hands pressed hard against the kitchen counter.

"I know you're angry," Eliot said. "That seems like something to talk about."

"You risked Parker," Hardison snapped, every note of accusation he had been carefully suppressing for the past several hours finding their way into those three words.

"I risked both of you when I didn't insist you go home," Eliot pointed out. "And you risked yourselves when you argued to stay."

"On the train," Hardison clarified, turning back to face Eliot. "You risked Parker on the train."

Eliot didn't flinch, but the flicker of fear and pain and doubt that crossed his face spoke volumes.

"What else was I supposed to do, Alec?" he asked. "Someone had to do it, and I couldn't be in two places at once. Would you rather she had been the one going up against the gun?"

"No!" Hardison objected. "I just..." he trailed off. This was where his arguments with himself kept getting stuck in _what if_ loops, too.

"I get that there were no really good options," Hardison tried again. "But I was right there, too. Why Parker rather than me?"

"Because I knew she would get the job done," Eliot told him. "And by that, I don't mean that you couldn't have done it – just that, in the moment, you were looking for solutions that would also keep the three of us safe, while Parker was seeing what I was seeing: two threats and two people equipped to deal with them, nothing more."

"And that's the problem!" Hardison burst out. "Neither of you stop to consider the possible costs when you throw yourselves into danger like that. And maybe that was fine when you were working alone. But you're part of a team now – and that means not all of the cost would be yours. Did you even think about what it would have been like for me and Nate and Sophie if you and Parker hadn't made it through?"

Eliot was quiet, which Hardison guessed gave him his answer to that last question.

"I don't know if I can do that," Eliot said, honestly. "And I don't know that it would make any difference to the decisions I reach – except maybe to delay them when there isn't really time to sit around thinking. But I'll try, especially when there's more than one of us at risk."

Hardison took a deep breath, and nodded. It was more than he had expected Eliot to offer, even if it would never be as much as he would like.

Eliot still seemed to think that this was about Hardison having some sort of inferiority complex or something, however. And maybe he wasn't entirely wrong...Eliot and Parker between them had been making him feel rather inept over the past several hours.

"We couldn't have done it without you, you know?" Eliot said. "We only got to Udall in time because you found him for us. And you disarmed the bomb and figured out the vaccine thing, and that the trailer was a booby-trapped decoy, and how to warn Vance's team to get away before it blew...do I need to go on? It's like Nate always says: there's a reason we work together as a team. We all have different skills and different strengths. It's putting them together, rather than worrying about who's better at what, the makes us so good at what we do."

"I know," Hardison said, the last of his anger draining out. "I just don't want to be left behind."

"Fair enough," Eliot said. "But keep in mind that most of the time we're the ones trying to keep up with you while you're thinking circles around us."

The smile Hardison gave him was tired and wan, but it was a smile.

"Like you and Parker have any use for the circles," Hardison scoffed. "You two are all about the straight lines."

"Exactly," Eliot said. "And that's why we need you and Nate looking at the 360-degree view, and Sophie coming at it from her tangent. That's how we make sure we both get the job done and all come home safe."

Hardison nodded, and Eliot stood up.

"I don't know about you," he continued, "but I'm going to try for some more sleep."

"Yeah," Hardison said, following him back through to the bedroom.


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

* * *

Hardison slept late the next morning, waking to the sounds of a torrential downpour outside the hotel room window, and of Parker annoying Eliot out in the living room. They had obviously both been awake for at least a few hours.

"You're grouchy when you're hurt," Parker was saying petulantly when Hardison emerged from the bedroom.

"I'm grouchy 'cause you're poking me," Eliot retorted. He pushed her hand away for probably the thousandth time. "Go and find something to do."

"There isn't anything to do," Parker complained. "It's raining too hard to do anything fun outside, and you said we should avoid crowded places indoors until we're sure none of us is going to give anyone the flu. And Hardison's still sleeping, and we already ate breakfast. I'm bored."

"Well, I still need breakfast," Hardison said, dropping down into the chair next to her. "What are the options?"

Eliot gestured towards the room service cart off to one side.

"Parker did most of the ordering," he warned. "I'm not sure what aren't the options."

Hardison stood and started peering into the dishes.

"Pop tarts?" he exclaimed. "Seriously? Room service does pop tarts?"

* * *

By late afternoon, they were all going a little stir-crazy. Hardison, given an internet connection, was normally well-equipped for a day indoors, but Parker and Eliot had been bored enough to try joining in a multi-player game. And Parker was right: Eliot was grouchy when he was hurt. By the time the tropical storm that had been holding them hostage let up, Hardison was just as ready to escape the hotel suite as the other two.

None of them were showing any symptoms of the flu, so Hardison found seats on a flight to Portland the next morning; then, by mutual agreement, they went their own ways for the evening. Eliot didn't venture any further afield than the newsstand at the corner and the sports bar in the hotel lobby. He was moving better than the night before – and better than Hardison would have thought possible had he not seen it with his own eyes – but was pretty sure he still wasn't up for either the speed or distance the slightly manic glint in Parker's eye promised when she suggested they go "sightseeing". Hardison had seen the same glint, and was volubly protesting the need to either climb up or rappel down the Washington Monument when they parted ways from Eliot. He watched them until even Parker's blonde head was indistinguishable in the crowds, then chose and paid for his newspaper and magazine from the newsstand's selection, and headed back into the hotel. He had a sneaking suspicion that the sightseeing wasn't going to last more than a couple of hours, which meant he needed to take full advantage of the peace and quiet in the meantime.

Hardison and Parker actually lasted three and a half hours before they showed back up at the hotel. He knew better than to ask what they had been up to, distracting them instead with dinner – Chinese this time, because Parker wanted fortune cookies. And by the time they had found a restaurant that offered both authentic Chinese food and fortune cookies, eaten, and made their way back to the hotel, it was a perfectly reasonable time to shower and go to bed. Eliot wished the other two a good night and then closed his bedroom door firmly behind him, clearly indicating there would be no repetition of the previous night's slumber party. Parker frowned briefly at the closed door: she had slept better the night before, curled between Eliot and Hardison, than she could remember ever having done. But, while rules were made to be broken, boundaries sometimes deserved respect, and Eliot was telling them that his were back in place. And that brought its own sense of security in the form of familiarity, so, after a moment, she gave herself a quick shake, and then let Hardison tug her down beside him to choose a movie for the two of them to fall asleep to.


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

* * *

The airport the next morning was busier than usual, still trying to catch up with the backlog of travellers whose flights had been cancelled due to the previous day's storm. They got held up in security when the scanner picked up the unusual bulges of Eliot's bandages and he had to wait for a TSA official to poke, prod, and generally inspect them to confirm he wasn't concealing any weapons or explosive materials. Eliot bit back his comments about the absurdity of the screening process and all the ways one could still sneak dangerous materials on board if one really wanted to until they were out of earshot, but muttered mutinously about it the rest of the way to their departure gate. Their flight was, of course, leaving from the gate seemingly farthest from the security checkpoint and he was limping heavily by the time they reached it, so Hardison and Parker bit their own tongues and restricted themselves to sympathetic noises of agreement, whatever eye-rolling might be occurring behind his back.

By the time they reached the gate, there were only a few minutes left until boarding, so Hardison waited with their luggage while Parker went in search of snacks and Eliot of the restroom. He used the time to let Nate know the time they expected to reach Portland, to check the weather along their route, and to scroll one more time through the local news to make sure their names and faces weren't appearing distinctly anywhere. He thought briefly again of the phone call Eliot received that had started the whole cascade of events, and wondered if there was anything he could do to quiet the networks' chatter any time Eliot blew into town.

He hadn't come up with any concrete ideas when Eliot dropped into the seat next to him and reached into his duffle bag for the bottle of prescription painkillers. Hardison raised an eyebrow at him.

"Precaution," Eliot grunted. "Five hours of sitting isn't going to be fun."

Hardison nodded, but he couldn't help noticing that Eliot had his right arm cradled protectively against his body, nor the difficulty the older man seemed to have coordinating the motions of standing and lifting his carry-on bag when their boarding group was called. He resisted rounding out the argument they had had earlier about whether Eliot should hitch a ride on one of the airport disability golf carts to their departure gate with a final 'I told you so', and slid an unobtrusive hand around Eliot's left bicep to give the little extra leverage (if you'll pardon the pun) that the man obviously needed.

Parker slid into place beside them just as they reached the front of the line, taking her bag from Hardison. They followed the families with small children and frequent fliers down the walkway and found their seats in first class. There was a large businessman already settled in the window seat beside Eliot's, lap top out and files and papers already surrounding him. The first class seats were spacious, but even so, he was obviously going to be moving stuff around and nudging up against his seatmate for most of the flight. From the way Eliot was moving, Parker could tell that the trek across the airport had left him hurting – and hurting meant a shorter rein on his temper than usual, and she really didn't want to spend five hours sitting across the aisle from a fuming Eliot. She glanced down at her boarding pass. If he traded with her, his injured shoulder would be on the aisle side, potentially in the way of the drinks trolley and any passengers heading to the bathroom.

Parker poked Hardison in the back.

"Trade with Eliot," she whispered to him.

Hardison looked round at her in confusion as they waited for a passenger in front of them to wrestle her carry-on bag in the overhead compartment.

"Sitting next to me will give him more space to spread out," Parker nodded towards Eliot, who was now trying to help with the luggage stowing. His right arm wouldn't lift that high, however, and Hardison stepped in hurriedly to shove the bag further into the compartment as it showed an alarming tendency to slide back down towards Eliot's nose.

Eliot treated him to a lower-level death glare and proceeded on to his assigned seat. Hardison stopped him as he started to slide into the seat.

"Damn," Hardison said dramatically, staring at his boarding pass. He turned pleading eyes on Eliot. "Will you trade with me?"

Eliot sat down.

"You're sitting next to Parker," he said.

"But I want an aisle seat," Hardison protested.

"So trade with Parker," Eliot said, pulling a book out of his bag and then starting to insert the latter under the seat in front of him. "You're holding up the line."

"Then I'd be sitting in an even-lettered seat," Hardison said. "I don't sit in even-lettered seats in odd-numbered months."

Eliot needed a moment to parse that. Then he smiled a little evilly.

"Trading with me won't help you there, bubba," he pointed out. He gestured to the empty window and aisle seats across the way. "A, B," he said, then pointed in turn to the man beside him and himself, "C, D."

Hardison cursed inwardly, and tried to think of something else.

"It would at least put me on the starboard side of the aircraft," Hardison said. "I also don't sit on the port side on Tuesdays."

"Should have thought of that when you made the reservation," Eliot told him, opening his book.

Hardison felt Parker tap his elbow gently, and he looked down again at the boarding pass he held.

_Hah!_

"I did," he told Eliot smugly. "Check your boarding pass."

Eliot dug it out of his jeans as a flight attendant approached. How Parker had managed to switch the passes when one was in his hands and Eliot was apparently sitting on the other was one of those questions Hardison had finally learnt to stop asking.

"Is there a problem here?" the flight attendant asked. "We really need to keep the line moving."

Eliot was staring at his boarding pass in disbelief. His eyes went briefly to Parker, smirking over Hardison's shoulder, and Hardison's slightly triumphant expression, before he arranged his face into that of a polite and slightly apologetic customer who definitely didn't need to be removed from the aircraft.

"No, ma'am," he told the flight attendant. "Just a little mix up over seat numbers."

Eliot stood and started moving across the aisle to 'his' new seat. Hardison snagged the duffle bag from the floor before Eliot could protest.

"Let me help you with that," he said, sliding it into the overhead compartment, before slipping into the seat Eliot had vacated.

Parker sat down beside Eliot, and all three of them maintained their good customer faces until the flight attendant gave them a professional smile and moved on to avert the next embarkation crisis.

"What the hell was that about?" Eliot growled under his breath to Parker after the flight attendant left.

Parker levelled a steady gaze on him.

"Getting you a little more space," she told him.

"I don't – " Eliot started to protest, but Parker very deliberately slid her elbow into Eliot's where it rested on their shared armrest. He hissed, pulling his arm in closer to his body. "What the hell are you doing, Parker?!"

"Making a point. I know to make sure that doesn't happen again. Do you think that guy over there would do the same?"

Eliot spared a glance past Hardison, where the businessman was shuffling through papers, trying to fit them and his laptop on the tray table that folded out from the chair's armrest. Parker might have had a point.

"Why couldn't you just tell me that?" he asked her, exasperated.

Parker snorted.

"Like you'd listen," she said. "You would have just said you were fine and didn't need to swop."

"I didn't –" Eliot started.

"I know," Parker interrupted again. "The odd elbow knock or accidental kick isn't going to kill you. But why sit through unnecessary pain?"

Eliot opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. The Percocet was kicking in, and had apparently stolen his ability to marshal coherent thoughts.

Parker sighed.

"Never mind," she said, patting his knee awkwardly.

Eliot didn't know how to respond to that either. He watched her in silence for a few minutes, but she was absorbed in the safety instruction pamphlet provided by the airline, leaning across the aisle to point out all the absurdities to Hardison. As the plane started to pull slowly away from the departure gate, Eliot leant back in his seat. Parker seemed content to let the subject drop, and he wasn't about to argue with that. By the time the plane was in the air and starting to level off near cruising altitude his drug-weighted eyelids were dragging closed. He fought it for a while, but finally let his head drop back and his eyes close. Parker and Hardison would wake him if anything happened, and, in the meantime, his book wasn't that interesting.


	17. Chapter 17

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_Two shortish ones this morning for Sunday brunch :)_

* * *

Two hours into the flight, Parker was surprised to realise that Eliot was actually sleeping beside her. Not _eyes-closed-pretending-to-be-sleeping-to-avoid-con versation_ but actual, genuine, sleeping.

She poked Hardison across the aisle.

"You ever seen Eliot sleeping on a plane before?" she asked.

Hardison looked up from his tablet and pulled out the ear bud on the side nearest her. He peered around her to where Eliot was indeed sleeping, head tilted again the window on his left.

Hardison shrugged. He couldn't remember seeing Eliot sleep during any previous flights, but they didn't always sit together, and, anyway, there was a first time for everything.

Parker was looking at Eliot like she wanted to experiment on him.

"Normally he wakes up when I stare at him," she said.

"He took some painkillers before we left," Hardison said, turning his attention back to the screen in front of him. "Just leave him be, Parker."

Parker frowned. Eliot had taken painkillers the other night, too, and he had still woken up when she stared at him. Not all the way or for very long, but he had woken up...maybe she was doing it wrong now. She shifted in her seat to get a better angle and fixed the full intensity of her gaze on his right ear. It took at least a minute, but eventually he blinked groggily a couple of times and muttered "Quit staring at me, Parker," before subsiding back into sleep. Satisfied, she settled back into her seat. She was bored. Eliot was sleeping and Hardison was deeply involved in whatever game or project he was working on. She had finished her puzzle, and was pretty sure the flight attendant was going to tie her to her seat if she got up again to wander around the cabin under the guise of going to the restroom. She had tried running through her mental maps of the security systems on her favourite exhibits at various museums around the world, but it hadn't held her attention like it usually did. She picked up the book Eliot had let slip down beside his leg when he fell asleep. It really wasn't very interesting. Maybe that was what had put him to sleep, and not the painkillers, Parker thought as her own eyes started to grow heavy. And maybe she should get her own copy for the nights when insomnia hit and Hardison didn't actually want to stay up all night playing with orcs.


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

* * *

They arrived in Portland barely later than they had left D.C. thanks to the time difference. By the time they landed, Eliot had slept off the effects of the Percocet – once again vowing not to take any more of it, even as abused muscles, stiff from hours of inactivity, protested the movement of standing and walking.

"What are we doing next?" Parker asked as they stepped onto the passenger walkway leading into the airport, invigorated by her nap on the plane.

Hardison checked the time on his phone.

"Well, Nate wanted to meet at ten-thirty...It's almost ten now, so I guess we should head to the offices."

"Do you think he has another client lined up already?" Parker asked.

"He didn't say," Hardison replied, glancing over at Eliot. Nate had just finished six weeks of planning jobs around the lack of a thief while they waited for Parker's knee to heal. He wondered what a job planned around a missing hitter would look like – or if Eliot, lacking the need for surgery and crutches, was likely to be more successful in convincing Nate he could work through it. _Self-declared lack of need for crutches_, Hardison amended, catching Eliot under the arm as his leg showed an alarming tendency to give out under him.

"Cramp," Eliot grunted. "Just need to walk it off."

"Uh-huh," Hardison said, flagging down an airline representative with his free hand. "Excuse me?" he launched into an explanation about his friend being a professional baseball player with an old leg injury he was too stubborn to admit was playing up, and could she please organize one of those golf carts the airport had for disabled passengers to take them to the parking garage?

The employee looked a little baffled by this barrage of information but gave Eliot a sympathetic look as she reached for her walkie-talkie.

"You don't need to do that, ma'am," Eliot stopped her, using a hand on Hardison's shoulder to start moving him away, and dredging up his best drawl. "I apologise for my friend here...We've been pullin' practical jokes on each other the whole time we've been travellin', an' I got him pretty good with the flight attendant on the way in, so he's just lookin' for some payback now."

He smiled around teeth gritted in annoyance and pushed Hardison forward.

"Dammit, Hardison," Eliot growled once they were out of earshot. "I told you I just need to walk it off."

"Yeah, right," Hardison scoffed. "'Cause that's how one fixes two holes in the leg. Just admit you need the help, man."

"I didn't say I don't," Eliot hissed. "I said I didn't need a ride. You can't walk off cramps while sitting down, Hardison."

"Yeah, well you can't walk right now, period," Hardison replied, equally exasperated. "Would you please let Parker steal you another crutch?"

"I don't –"

"Don't what?" Hardison interrupted. "Need one? Because I'll have you know, the way you're hanging off my shoulder right now says otherwise."

Predictably, Eliot released his grip on Hardison's shoulder. Hardison stopped where he was, crossing his arms and preparing for his big _I told you so_ moment when Eliot went down in a few steps. To his surprise, Eliot just readjusted the strap of his bag and put his hand right back where it was.

"I was going to say," Eliot continued as Hardison started moving again, that I don't know how much it'd really help."

Hardison opened his mouth, doubtless about to spout invaluable facts about tripods of ability and the beneficial properties of crutches following leg injuries. But Eliot steamrolled over him.

"Having the crutch on my left created a weird weight distribution for that shoulder," Eliot explained. "It wasn't doing much to take the weight off my leg."

"May be you need a different shape crutch," Parker proposed, reappearing from wherever she had melted off to when Hardison initiated the conversation with the airline employee. Some habits were hard to break, and not attracting official attention was high on that list for Parker. "You should try one of the ones from when I sprained my knee...They were pretty good for knocking people out with, too."

"Knocking people out..." Hardison trailed off, bypassing his reflexive correction of Parker's description of her ACL injury. "Parker, did something happen while we were in Japan that you haven't told us about?"

"No, absolutely nothing," Parker replied mechanically. "Does anyone want a Cinnabon? Airports always make me want Cinnabons."

Eliot, thinking of bullet holes that had mysteriously appeared – and equally mysteriously been patched without Hardison noticing them – in the Leverage HQ's walls, dropped Parker a wink...then groaned when she demanded they add cinnamon rolls to the Brewpub's menu. Although a cinnamon bread pudding had possibilities, now that he thought about it...


	19. Chapter 19

_Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply._

_Well, folks, this chapter ends this particular story. Thank you for reading and reviewing! It has, once again, been a lot of fun, and I hope you like this ending. See you again soon :)._

* * *

Nate had the Leverage offices to himself for the early hours of the morning. Sophie spent them at the theatre, starting the morning with a sunrise acting exercise for her drama students. Well, it would have been a sunrise acting exercise in LA. In Portland it turned out to be a slightly damper watch-the-clouds-turn-a-lighter-grey-through-the-r ain acting exercise that had caused her hair to frizz. Sophie and Portland had mostly come to terms with one another, but the hair remained a point of contention. By the time she joined Nate at the office at mid-morning, he was working his way through the list of potential clients Hardison's webcrawlers had identified. He had started out reviewing the progress he and Hardison had made toward tracking down the Black Book, but switched to the regular client research and planning in case anyone showed up early for the meeting. It was a good thing, too, he thought as Sophie sat down beside him and started reading over his shoulder.

"This guy," she tapped one of the photos on the screen with a manicured fingernail, "is one nasty piece of work."

"Uh huh," Nate agreed. He sat back in his chair to look at her. "You see a way in?"

Sophie leant across him, scrolling down and then clicking through a few other windows Nate had open, considering.

"He and his wife seem very...invested...in their country club tennis tournaments," she observed. "Perhaps it's time they had some friendly competition in the mixed doubles. How's your forehand these days, Nate?"

"Hah," Nate laughed. "The tennis is a good idea, but I want to save you for the role of CEO of the company they are going to be unable to resist investing in."

"Hardison and Parker, then?" Sophie asked.

Their eyes met. From her expression, Nate suspected she was having similar visions of balls flying off in all directions from Hardison's long-armed, but uncoordinated reach ("Oops, my bad!"), or whizzing with murderous intent and speed at someone's head from Parker's forceful volleys.

"Ah – maybe not," Nate said. "But Eliot...Eliot as the hot new trainer in town, guaranteed to improve their game, could work. Especially since Mrs. Country Club looks like she could use a little extra coaching on her singles game."

Sophie smiled slowly.

"Just one question," she said, straightening up. "Can Eliot play tennis?"

"We haven't found anything he can't hit or throw yet," Nate brushed off the possibility of this as a hitch in the plan starting to take shape in his mind. "Maybe he can even get another sandwich named after him."

"Wait, what?" Sophie asked. She didn't remember any sandwiches.

Nate was focused on the computer screen again.

"It was just before I went to prison," he replied, distractedly. "Ask him about it sometime."

They were interrupted by the sounds of the other three arriving from the airport, their voices preceding their entrance into the Leverage office. Parker was arguing vociferously that there were plenty of dishes on the menu with which cinnamon rolls would go well, while Hardison contended that if that was the standard then his suggestion of a gummy frog sundae should be up for reconsideration. Eliot's deep-throated growl broke through as they came in from the restaurant, telling them to leave the menu and running of the kitchen to him if they wanted the Brewpub to stay open for more than another month.

Sophie turned to greet them as they all dropped their bags in a corner of the office, Eliot taking advantage of the pause to snatch the copy of the menu Parker held.

Left hand, Sophie noted, same as had just dropped his duffle bag. There was no mistaking the limp as he moved over to the briefing table, nor the way he held his right arm still against his body. Shoulder and leg, then, for the "flesh wounds" he had been so dismissive about when she followed up on Parker's cryptic summary of their activities. He looked okay though, and the most telling clue that there might be slightly more to the story than the brief text messages had indicated was in the careful way the other two moved around him.

Parker didn't seem bothered by the fact she had lost the menu. She looked slightly affronted for a moment that Eliot had been able to take it, but then moved off giving Sophie a quick wave hello as she passed by on her way to what they had all finally accepted was the junk closet – where they kept the things none of them could agree on where they belonged.

Sophie leant in closer to Nate's ear.

"I think you might want to revise that country club plan," she murmured to him.

"What's that?" Nate asked, finally looking up and noticing the three new arrivals. "You guys are here...good. Anything new from D.C. we need to discuss, or are you ready to meet the next client and mark?"

"Eliot got shot," Parker announced helpfully, emerging from the junk closet with a crutch in one hand, a box of cereal in the other, and something tucked under her arm. She handed the crutch to Eliot. "I found in a sling in there, too, if you want it," she told him, pulling it out from under her arm and dropping it in front of him on the briefing table.

Sophie bit her lip, schooling her expression into one of sympathy rather than amusement, as Eliot dropped his head into his left hand in resignation, finger and thumb squeezing the bridge of his nose. She could just imagine what two days of concerned caretaking by Hardison and Parker had been like.

"Headache?" she asked sweetly, earning the full intensity of the scowl he turned on her. She couldn't help laughing a little: a small helping of payback was fully deserved for his cavalier attitude to her concerns about Parker's report of bullet wounds. She could see he was hurting, though, so she didn't press further.

Beside her, Nate sighed heavily.

"Anything else you three left out of the D.C. story?" he asked. "We've got time while I come up with a plan for our next mark that doesn't require Eliot to hit anything or – well – walk."

"I'm fine," Eliot grumbled. "I just need a few days."

Parker snorted and Hardison rolled his eyes. Apparently they had heard that claim a few more times than they were willing to believe it in the last fort-eight hours. Nate raised his eyebrows sceptically, then stood to pace as he revised his plans.

Sophie moved to stand beside Eliot.

"Trust me," she told him, "you'll like almost anything he can come up with under those constraints better than what he was working on when you arrived: private tennis coach to some high powered country club types."

"Tennis coach?!" Eliot sounded as much outraged at the suggestion as exasperated by Nate's ongoing assumption that they would each pull out whatever skill was needed for the task they were assigned. "Does he realise I've never played tennis in my life?"

Sophie shrugged.

"He didn't seem too concerned about that," she told him.

"No, no, this is better," Nate jumped back into the conversation. "Here's what we need to do..."

Sophie, Hardison, and Parker all took their seats at the briefing table as Nate outlined his newly hatched plan for their next mark.

Sophie snuck glances at Eliot. She could see him watching for an opportune moment to tell Nate his plan still needed to wait a week, because the point of back-up was that it be able to back you up when you needed it.

"What?" Eliot demanded the third time he caught Sophie's eyes on him.

"You cut your hair," she said.

"Oh," he said, hand going self-consciously to his head and running down the newly shorn hair and recently bared neck. "Yeah."

"I like it," Sophie told him. "But I'll miss the pony tail."

Eliot just shook his head. Whatever opportunities Vance's job offer may have encompassed, it could never have matched this crew for sheer unpredictability. Or, he had to admit, loyalty. He hadn't even needed a minute to think about his answer the other morning. This crew was his now. And he, apparently, was theirs.

_The End._


End file.
